


Don't fear the fallen

by hazk



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Intentionally slow-paced, Post-Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2018-12-16 21:11:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11837136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazk/pseuds/hazk
Summary: Valhalla is an outpost filled with death. Their minds are overtaken by whispers.





	1. At first you jinx it

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after Season 8, the alterations beginning at Sidewinder and mentioned once the Reds and Blues return to Valhalla without meeting Carolina. Valhalla has a night-cycle now, just because I can, and some pretty cheap “horror aspects” also exist (the quotations are very important).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We are not in the clear yet…”

Agent Washington had taken his chances to free from imprisonment, betraying everything to keep what little was left of his life. Now, lying on a small, uncomfortable bed with half of his body covered in bandages, it was hard to believe it had actually been this easy to get his wish in the end.

Although “easy” wasn’t exactly the right word to use there.

Maine – _and now also_ _the Meta_ – was long dead. Washington had shot too many people throughout the mess that was his military career and the final hunt itself.

Texas and Epsilon were inside the Memory Unit, not exactly the way he had wanted them to be, and somehow Washington had ended his mission by joining the rest of the simulation troopers. Although that last one had had less to do with his own choices and more with the troopers saying it was their right to be calling the shots for Wash from there on out.

And so, as simple as that, he had been adopted. By switching his armour with an empty husk, once belonging to the memory of everything every single one of them had suffered through in their own ways, he had been freed.

“Easy” was an understatement yet equally true at the same. More Freelancers should have just abandoned their gear when they ran – if they had, there would have been far less beacons left for Washington to recover, too.

That would have really helped with some of the nightmares he would be carrying with him for the rest of his life, Wash was certain, but it was a little too late to think about that now.

 

* * *

 

It’s been a while since they had last been to Valhalla. Their new bases had been left empty in a hurry after Donut’s death in the hands of Agent Washington and the following rescue mission to get Simmons, but here they were again.

Somehow, even the said ex-Freelancer had come back with them but with less blood in him than he had had the last time around.

Thinking about it, Grif and Sarge had joined Caboose’s search for one Blue, found two and – once Church died again, or whatever the fuck is happening here anymore – brought back yet another who was already on record for killing Donut and generally fucking up their lives with the truth and shit. And Doc, nursing Washington back to health behind the UNSC’s jurisdiction because that was obviously such a great idea, had also insisted to come along.

Then, to make everything just that much better, it turned out that Donut was actually somehow still alive and had been waiting for them inside the Blue Base, lying in Caboose’s bed when their ships had landed. Because of course he was.

The Valhalla Outpost had been filled with life in an instant.

And if Grif had one thing to say about everything that had happened and where they were now, it would have to be: “Fuck this.”

He and Simmons had stood there when Doc and Donut had had their creepily heartfelt reunion for two people who barely knew each another. And, to top it off, Donut seemed more than willing to ignore how the so-called medic hadn’t even realised he had still been alive when previously called over by Simmons and the two Freelancers behind the attack.

Donut, now lying in bed and practically hallucinating from the medication in a way that made everyone more than miss his… more normal levels of innuendo, was happy to have them back, alive and well. He appeared beyond gleeful over not having been left behind, and it didn’t exactly matter that they weren’t here for him in the first place.

But the most annoying part of the entire thing was just how excited the Private sounded over the idea of meeting the new Blue Doc was fixing up on the other end of the outpost. Since Sarge had immediately upon their arrival ordered Donut to be dragged back to Red Base to keep the teams properly apart, he hadn’t had the chance to catch a glimpse of him yet.

With the way things were, no one had bothered to explain to Donut that he was already more than familiar with the new-guy in question, Agent Washington having been the one to have shot him in the first place.

It was all fucked to begin with, why mess with it further.

 

* * *

 

Valhalla itself hadn’t changed, unless you counted the damage left behind by their fight against Washington and the Meta, Grif thought as he glared at the familiar grounds. He could see Sarge talk to Lopez’ head in the yard, preparing the robot for the maintenance he would have to go through before his parts could be reattached.

Even from this distance, standing on top of the Red Base, Grif could clearly hear Lopez’ frustration over the idea. It wasn’t that hard to guess what he was saying, Sarge not caring in the least about the tone the robot was using with him.

It was familiar enough and not exactly in a good way, Grif scoffed as he turned to look at the Blue Base’s direction instead. There were no signs of life to be seen, which made sense. For now.

The UNSC didn’t give a shit about the war Project Freelancer had started for them but still, back at the Sidewinder, they had come to the conclusion that continuing it was the safest bet for the Reds and Blues. But knowing Washington was with the Blues now, Grif was well prepared for an ass kicking in case he actually wanted to “play along” with them.

“Did Doc say how long it would take for Washington to…?”

Simmons stood next to Grif as they faced the other end of their small outpost. He had barely left his side since the almost-fall back at the Sidewinder.

They hadn’t talked about it.

“Nah.”

After the Meta, and everything that had gone down by the snow, returning back to anything close to normal wasn’t exactly meant to be easy – leading to Grif’s discomfort over the idea alone. They had been back at Valhalla for no longer than a few hours by now, there really shouldn’t have been enough time to snap out of it yet.

“We are all alive, then.”

Apparently Simmons was on the side of being all too eager to ignore the issue and get started with the “healing process”, shuffling on his feet a little as he continued to gaze at the Blue Base. Any other day Grif wouldn’t feel the need to disagree, but the combined annoyance of the painkillers, leftover aches and an almost-fall to his death were enough to distract him from what was considered normal of him.

The evening air was chilling and Grif’s malfunctioning armour wasn’t helping much against it even if the weather here was more than preferable after all that snow and glaring whiteness. To add to the hell that was his very existence right about now, the snow had left even his eyes itching and forming a killer headache that even the meds didn't work against, the visor having not dulled down the impact of the view nearly as well as it was supposed to.

“Church didn’t make it out. Or the Meta. Or Tex. But sure, it went better than expected! I’m beginning to think it’s impossible to get rid of the actual, normal _,_ human beings in this hellhole of ‘fake war’…”

The way Simmons stilled made Grif sigh in exasperation and, sure enough, almost immediately after he could practically feel the cyborg’s glare be pointed at the side of his visor.

No matter how annoyed he was, Grif realised a little belatedly, he really was too tired to get into a more serious argument with the maroon soldier – it already took all too much energy to hold back his anger at how uncomfortable he was in his own skin right now. The night couldn’t come fast enough, the previous day truly having been a real pain in the ass.

Grif was more than ready to call it quits. Almost dying wasn’t fun.

“We are the furthest from normal… And literally the opposite of immortal”, Simmons said after a painfully long pause, his visor turning away. “It won’t always be this easy…”

Grif blinked slowly, wondering just how it was possible for Simmons to miss the point by that much.

“What the fuck has been easy about any of this _so far?!_ I’m the one who hung from that fucking cliff, to start, and no one thought to check!” Grif finally retorted, unable to hold it back and his tone making Simmons’ back stiffen.

“I did”, Simmons snorted back immediately, but his voice was abnormally quiet, “and you heard me. Could have called out sooner if you were in such a hurry to get out…”

“Yeah, well, thanks for thinking of me”, Grif said back, turning to look at Simmons. “It means a lot to know you considered it _even without being fucking told_.”

Simmons didn’t look his way but his stance straightened further. Noticing it, Grif couldn’t help but to grin although he didn’t find any humour in the situation itself.

Raising his hands to do so, Simmons took off his helmet and went to run his free hand through his hair in exasperation until he suddenly halted, finally turning to face Grif again and taking a quick step towards him.

Grif automatically backed away, frowning at the suddenly abandoned irritation on the other’s face.

“Wait, you…” Simmons said without paying attention to Grif’s reaction, gesturing at his hands awkwardly with something akin to poorly concealed worry taking over his voice. “Doc checked on you before we got here? But he doesn’t know what he’s doing most of the time, _all of the time_ , you really should –!”

“Yeah, yeah! My hands are all bandaged up, nothing much you can do about it now”, Grif replied quickly and waved Simmons off. He wasn’t wearing most of the armour anymore for a reason, the undersuit and gloves keeping everything together nicely enough. Having his hands torn up at the fall had been just another of those things Grif categorized as not so fun – and removing the layers covering the wounds would be beyond painful.

The current dosage of painkillers would wear out soon.

“And you… You are okay?”

“As okay as I can be after almost falling to my death with the Meta… Keyword: almost. No one’s dead, Simmons”, Grif said in an offhanded attempt at reassurance to just get it over with, before pausing and looking away. “I mean… Someone is, sure, but not me…”

Simmons didn’t say anything to that and Grif, still loopy from the medication, got lost in thought. He winced as he tried to clench his bandaged right hand only to remember he really shouldn’t be doing that right now.

After a moment, Grif went to repeat his earlier point out loud, mostly to himself:

“Real weirded out by it, though… And I mean it. We’re not what I’d call ‘lucky’.”

“Don’t complain about not being dead”, Simmons was quick reply, crossing his arms uncomfortably as he glanced around the empty space of Valhalla. “We are not in the clear yet…”

“Clear from what? Washington? You think he’s still after us?”

“…Grif, he did kind of have me as a hostage for a while there, after I saw him _shoot Donut._ Who we thought to be dead up until a few hours ago”, Simmons said slowly, his cyborg eye’s stare steady although the organic one revealed his discomfort well enough still. “The Blues replacing Church with him is a bit… Sure, I am fine with it, but… you know.”

“We agreed with them so it’s a little late to back out now. Not saying it’s a good trade, but I doubt he’s after our lives either”, Grif hummed in relative agreement, not willing to downplay Simmons’ earlier experiences with the Freelancer any more than his own near-death even if directly addressing neither of the issues. He then continued:

“Also, it’s not like he’s decided what he’s going to do next, who knows if he’ll even be staying. But if he does, what can you do? We’re still better off here, with him around, than being hunted down by the –“

 

* * *

 

Grif knew better than to complain about having to once again go back to sharing a room with Simmons, full well knowing the other options within the Red Base were far worse in so many ways. The space they had to themselves was limited enough as it was and maybe it was a good thing to have someone obsessed with cleaning duties to take care of the more notable messes taking over.

But there were downsides to it and they were more obvious now than they ever had been.

Simmons couldn’t take his eyes off the bandages wrapped around Grif’s fingers and the palms of his hands, Grif barely able to move the ruined digits after the nightmare that was peeling off the gloves now that the adrenaline from earlier had completely worn out. He hadn’t asked for help with it though and Simmons hadn’t offered, but the grimace on the nerd’s face had been almost as bad as the one Grif had been left with.

Grif wanted to say something, to snark his way out of the situation, but he knew there were drawbacks to that as well – the tension between them hadn’t lessened yet and Simmons never took kindly to being reminded of his undivided attention being pointed at anything.

The nerd would have to realise it on his own sooner than later, all flustered and immediately turning away to pretend he didn’t care. With that in mind, Grif let it slide as he instead collapsed on to his bunk and covered his eyes with the length of his right arm.

But Simmons didn’t just snap out of it, staring at him for a few minutes longer before slowly standing up only to turn off the lights and then return to his bed.

Grif blinked in the dark of the room, lifting his arm slightly to take a peek at the other end of their quarters. The red of Simmons’ cyborg eye was clearly visible still, no longer pointed in Grif’s direction but staring at the wall opposite of him.

Grif frowned, minding his aching palms and muscles as he carefully settled on his spot and looked away. It took an annoyingly long time, by his standards, for him to fall asleep as he almost obsessively glanced in the cyborg’s direction every few minutes only to see the red light not waver.

He didn’t do anything about it.

 

* * *

 

“What do you mean?”

Grif snapped out of his slumber, barely having nodded off and apparently still too well aware of his surroundings to be able to catch the softly spoken words and be awaken by them. He opened his eyes slowly and flinched at the way his hands seemed to pulsate in pain beneath their many layers of wrappings, turning his head towards the whiny voice he was more than familiar with by now.

“…What?” Grif asked right back, his voice gravelly and barely audible. It hardly covered for the annoyance he felt at the entirety of his life right now. “I’m in pain here, let me sleep –“

“You are the one talking”, Simmons snapped back just as suddenly, the red of his eye lighting the left side of his face in a haunting manner and revealing just how tired and pissed off he also seemed to be for no apparent reason. “What, are you back to speaking in your sleep? Thought we were over that!”

“What’s your problem?” Grif growled, equally tired and in need of simply falling unconscious to forget all about the numbing itch gnawing at his muscles. He couldn’t be bothered with the other’s issues when he had more than enough to deal with his own. “I’m rightfully traumatised, you haven’t exactly let me forget about that one – _just quit your whining for once_.”

Simmons scoffed and turned around to face the opposite wall again and Grif could hear the way the sheets crinkled as he pulled his taller frame into a smaller space almost defensively.

Grif let out a clearly audible snort, turning to look the other way as well. Just for a little while longer, he kept his eyes open as another, tired frown made its way on his face.

“What the hell did I even say to you?” Grif had to ask after a moment, unable to not feel curious at the reaction he had been woken up to. While waiting for a reply he seemed to not be getting, he allowed his eyes to fall shut to get the rest he really was in desperate need of.

“…Fuck you, Grif.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I began writing this fic over a year ago, but it was episode 8 of season 15: "Nightmare on Planet Evil", and the Angst War ending my fear of posting anything rvb, that gave me the last push of inspiration needed to finish it.
> 
> Also, I’m glad Season 15 addressed themes I’ve waited to see brought back for years, mainly the treatment of the sim troopers. That’s something “Don’t fear the fallen” deals with a little so it really worked well to feed my motivation! :)


	2. Playdate with me and I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Who’s who?”

The morning after Sidewinder was a painful experience both mentally and physically.

The restless night’s worth of sleep had been nothing but nightmares hard to handle with his brain filled to the brim with whatever medication the Blues and Doc has shoved his way – he shuddered at the mere thought – but that wasn’t even the worst part of it. Not at all.

To add to the headache, Agent Washington just had to wake up to the sight of a too-widely grinning man right by his bedside.

If the face had belonged to Doc, Wash might have handled it a little better. But, of course, that wasn’t the case.

Instead, as the unknown person tilted his head curiously at his reaction, Washington let out a startled scream the kind of which no one had heard since the very early days of Project Freelancer and its more light-hearted scares.

Maybe he should have figured out what was going on here just a little sooner, considering the tall frame and the childish, kind gleam in the man’s eyes, but at this point Washington was just too terrifyingly out of it to think of anything but the suddenly overwhelming instinct to flee.

“Good morning, Agent Washingtub!” Caboose exclaimed when certain the newly acquired Blue was awake, not paying any further mind to the greeting he had gotten as he surprisingly gently pushed the Freelancer back to bed – as he had been instructed to do.

It was a good thing, too, as Washington had already gotten all too close to crumbling on to the floor, flat on his face. Blinking dully and with his mind slowly clearing, Wash was immediately overtaken by equal amounts of embarrassment and thankfulness over it having been Caboose who had broken him from his slumber, and not Tucker.

From what little he had gotten to know of the teal armoured man by now, Washington more than knew he would have never been allowed to live this one down.

“…Morning, Caboose”, Wash mumbled with a sigh and looked around the dimly lit room to see anything that could indicate what time it was and why the other man was even here for him. But as there was nothing to be seen, the only thing he could do was ask exactly that.

What he got in return was a frown forming on the younger man’s face, Caboose tilting his head to the other side now like a puppy as he pondered on the question.

“Early enough to be up but not too late to have Church yell at you!” Caboose finally answered after a few more seconds, with a wide smile that made Washington shrink a little in his bed. He had gotten more in that one reply than he had been prepared for, already having learned about Caboose’s denial-filled stance on Epsilon’s – _Church’s_ – apparent death.

In which Washington had, _again_ , had a hand in.

“That’s… good”, Washington said and forced out a smile of his own, not sure how believable it looked considering how much it felt like a grimace against his skin. He had no idea how to regard the sim trooper without his helmet on.

Expressions alone were difficult after a long time of not needing them to interact with the very limited number of people he had spoken with out of necessity, never out of kindness. Begrudgingly, Washington found himself thinking back to the many meetings he had had to suffer through with the Counselor, shivering at the memory of having to hide every single one of his, barely contained, emotions from the man – not all of which had even initially belonged to him but instead to Epsilon.

And the Director.

It was yet another one of those things that would be holding him back for a very long time, forever maybe Washington knew, but maybe Caboose was the perfect person to get started with to practice his new outlook on life. After all, the younger soldier didn’t seem to notice the flashes of pain and reminiscent anger taking over his features at every moment he lost focus in his hazy state of mind.

Washington found himself thankful for that, once more. “What are you doing here?” he then slowly asked, relearning how to speak as well with each spoken word.

Caboose simply continued smiling, his eyes barely even open with the happy expression spread wide over his face.

“Tucker didn’t want to do it so I volunteered!”

“…Do what?” Wash asked carefully, glancing around the room again in case there really was something there he had previously missed.

But there was no need to worry, Caboose suddenly leaning towards the ground and picking up a durable looking box that had been waiting for him there – and almost crushed by Washington’s attempt to run, he realised.

“Breakfast!” Caboose exclaimed and opened the lid with one yank, the hinges breaking apart. Washington’s eyes grew just a little wider at the sight, impressed more than anything. So much for the durability, he thought, turning his attention down at the dish he was offered.

In all of their simplicity, the slightly burned, scrambled eggs looked delicious.

Washington noted then how he couldn’t even remember the last time he had been this hungry or eaten anything but MREs, and with that he honestly couldn’t have cared less who was responsible for cooking his breakfast. The Blues had obviously survived for long enough out there with their most likely limited diets, he could do the same without complaining.

It would beat the prison meals, he could already tell that much at least, and for now all there was for Washington to do was to regain his strength. He still had work to do.

And with that in mind he began to eat, half-heartedly listening to whatever story Caboose set out to tell him throughout his meal, humming in reply whenever the younger man looked his way as if expecting a reply.

To his surprise, Washington found himself wanting to listen but unable to do so when he realised just how much he had missed having an actual meal to start the day with.

 

* * *

 

Grif had been prepared for the surprise in Simmons’ eyes when the cyborg entered the tiny kitchen in the early morning only to find him already sitting by the table. Simmons tilted his head, doing a double take as he glanced at the clock on the wall and then back at him.

Grif had also prepared to ignore the hurry Simmons had entered the room in, the worry apparent in his one green eye as he had most likely freaked out after not seeing Grif in their shared quarters first thing in the morning.

With that much obvious, Grif immediately went to stand up to walk straight back to bed now that he was guaranteed to have the room all for himself, well aware he’d be doing nothing else the entire day – although the idea of laying down wasn’t much of a comfort right now either, which was just _utter bullshit_.

He had woken up early, the pain worse than anything Grif remembered ever feeling before in his entire life –

Actually no, scratch that.

Getting run over by a tank and then having his organs replaced by something that barely counted as a match still took the cake, but it didn’t undermine how badly he was handling his current situation. Moving hurt, staying still did as well, and there was no solution he could find to get comfortable. Everything he was used to doing and enjoying was ruined now.

Grif grit his teeth as he straightened himself in an attempt to hide his discomfort, forcing his feet to move as he made to walk past Simmons who had apparently glued himself on the doorway to just watch him.

Simmons make him way without a word although his lips were twitching in a way that said he was mentally preparing himself to say something he had most likely planned on since the moment he had woken up. But Grif didn’t stick around for long enough to hear what it was, hurrying in his steps to make it back to their shared room and locking the door.

Good thing Simmons had put his armour on before he went out to search for Grif; now there was no reason to let him in even if he tried.

And so Grif stood there, in the middle of the room, and sighed. He couldn’t remember when he had last eaten properly, unable to force most of the MREs open on his own with his hands being the way they were.

At least the painkillers, and whatever else medication he needed to keep sane, were easy enough to handle, helping him settle down to wait through the day.

 

* * *

 

“What are you planning to do next?” Washington asked when Tucker finally made an appearance in his room. If anything, Washington knew there were many things they needed to clear out.

It made sense to begin with his position in their new arrangement and, like it or not, Tucker was the one in charge of what little was left of Blue Team, meaning he was the one Wash had to deal with.

“UNSC brought us back here for a reason”, Tucker said with a bored expression, actually answering the question to just be done with it already. “They probably want to keep tabs on us while they figure out whatever messes your ‘friends’ left behind.”

Washington was well aware of the sim troopers’ feelings towards Project Freelancer, and it made everything easier – after all, he did more than share their mind-set.

“They wouldn’t want you to wander off and tell anyone what happened to you, and with the Meta… Solving the Project’s issues will take its time and UNSC will want to be in full control of whatever information gets out to the public”, Washington replied thoughtfully. “You had a chance to run away before it got to that, but you didn’t take it…”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Tucker scoffed. “No but really, we don’t need the UNSC to get any idea; it was just easier to _not_ go with the Reds’ initial plan to steal those Hornets at the Sidewinder, and do what was asked of us when done answering their questions… Good thing they didn’t spot you.”

“How thoughtful of you”, Wash couldn’t help but to say, thankful UNSC hadn’t bothered to pay him any closer attention. But still, he was also impressed by the quick thinking the Reds and Blues had done to first save him and then plan their next course of action before anyone even came to investigate the scene.

They had told Washington to stay out if it, then, and it hadn’t exactly been his place to complain.

“But exactly how will you play _this_ …?”

“Easy”, Tucker replied, now with a smug grin. “We have the best cover ever, UNSC will never take us seriously – will help us avoid all the included paperwork and trials, whatever, too.”

Wash lifted a brow, curious at the reasoning behind the confidence he was shown. “As long as we let Sarge do his thing, we’re all set”, Tucker continued his explanation when he noticed the look he was given, making Washington throw his head back in understanding.

“Right. One man makes up a war and the rest of you go along with it in appearances – UNSC won’t even realise you learned the truth behind your service at Blood Gulch and can’t ask you to testify, or whatever else they might need you for… You’ll sell yourself off as idiots.”

“Easy”, Tucker repeated and then squinted at Washington almost teasingly. “But fuck man, don’t give us that much credit. It’s hardly an act for the _most of us here_.”

Washington hummed as a reply, thinking further on how the UNSC had never cared much about the leftover victims of Project Freelancer since they first began their investigation on the Director. But Wash had to admit that this course of action increased the Reds and Blues’ changes of remaining as free men exponentially, allowing them to wait it out before slipping away.

At Valhalla, UNSC wouldn’t keep watch on them for long, if they ever had, deeming it easier to just let them play their game if that’s what kept them happy. And if they were to die in the process, no one would even notice.

It really would make the paperwork just that much easier.

“You planning to stay?” Tucker asked after a moment, glancing at the door of Washington’s new room. They both knew Caboose was waiting right outside, ready to jump at the chance to spend more time with their newest addition.

As long as Washington stayed out of armour, Caboose was free of confusing him with Church. But until then, the Private was more than just pretending that the events at the Sidewinder had never even happened.

“Yes, for the time being at least. I have… I still have something left to do here.”

“Alright.” Tucker accepted the answer without question, not noticing the pained expression crossing over Washington’s features because he was still looking at the door. “Good. Caboose likes you and all that, I’m really not looking forward to the day we…”

Tucker’s words rolled to a stop and he frowned, turning to Washington again to finish by saying:

“Let’s just play along for a little while longer.”

Washington could do nothing but nod: he wasn’t looking forward to the end either, and he didn’t even know these people. 

 

* * *

 

Under Sarge’s orders, Simmons was put in charge of ensuring Donut stayed alive whenever Doc was around to check up on him. Someone had to keep an eye on the enemy, but Sarge was too busy to do it on his own when he focused all of his effort into rebuilding Lopez’ body, designing an upgrade back in the holographic chamber.

Once done with his silent breakfast, Simmons escorted the medic to Donut’s quarters, with great effort avoiding any kind of conversation with the purple man as he did. The conversations he was going to have with Donut were going to be bad enough to stand by to, and Simmons was doing his everything to prepare for their meeting with gritted teeth.

He wished he could have just slipped away, but he was under orders to stay with them. And honestly, he really didn’t trust Doc’s assessment on Donut’s condition. It would do them no good if Donut got himself killed right after coming back, meaning someone literally _had to be there_ to keep them in check.

Simmons just hated that it had to be him.

“But I feel _fabulous_!”

“That really doesn’t have anything to do with –“, Simmons went to say but was immediately interrupted by Doc nodding at the bedridden Private’s words. He appeared enthusiastic, exclaiming:

“Then I see no reason for you to stay cooped up in here! Just avoid any excess physical activities for a few more days and you should be _fine_!”

“Aww”, Donut whined, “and here I was hoping to go at it hard! That’s the best way to work on your stamina!”

Simmons grimaced and turned to Doc who had an unnaturally thoughtful expression on his face.

“You might be right about that one, Donut… Still, better take it easy for a while. But! That doesn’t mean you can’t also start testing your limits while you’re at it!”

Simmons’ grimace grew even deeper and Donut grinned. “Awesome! I know how to edge –!“

“Alright, you’re doing well enough so we can just go now!” Simmons interrupted and turned to hurry off, gesturing at Doc to follow.

Donut’s smile fell and he let out another whine at that.

“But Simmons, it’s so dull in here, at least with the threeso–“

“I have work to do, _Donut_ ”, Simmons forced out, his voice adapting a similar squeak as the other Private’s, “and it’s not meant to be _fun_.”

“But –” Donut frowned. “What do you mean?”

“What? It’s not, I mean, I enjoy my job but it’s not“, Simmons spluttered and automatically went on to explain, but then shook his head in reflex at the soft buzzing hitting him.

Through the brief flash of pain that followed, the unclear jumble of words barely reached him:

_“They –e h–!”_

“Who’s that?” Donut asked immediately, interrupting the sounds and looking around in confusion, his expression turning blank. As if asking for confirmation, he turned to Doc.

The medic tilted his head in slight confusion and then, in turn, looked at Simmons.

The still organic side of the cyborg’s face had turned paler than usual and he was staring at Donut in apparent shock. Doc looked between the two of them. “Who’s who?”

“Nothing!” Simmons put in a little too fast, shaking his head again to clear his mind now that it was quiet again, waving off Doc’s curious gaze. “Donut’s still out of it, probably just imagining things!”

“Imagining what?” Doc asked and turned to Donut.

Donut shrugged, his grin back with full force. “Nothing, I guess! For a second I thought I heard something but that makes more sense!” He looked at Simmons who nodded in apparent agreement, turning on his heels and hurrying out of the room without waiting for Doc to follow.

With his eyes wide, Simmons hurried down the corridor to put as much distance between himself and the other two as possible within the limitations of the tiny base. Everything he could think about in his sudden state of shock was how the last thing he wanted was a repeat of the “imaginary-tank” incident.

No one would believe him even if he tried to bring it up, and no way was he siding with Donut now, especially when he was all drugged out and uncaring of the implications – and oh the irony in that one.

Just…

No, that never happened.

There was no reason, no way –

Simmons wasn’t familiar with the voice at all; a voice he had not heard even once, mind you.

 

* * *

 

Deep below ground, in the Red Team’s holo-room, Lopez sighed as he watched Sarge design his new body. The robot was beyond pissed, which in itself was nothing unusual, but this time it was caused by something other than just his team’s influence in his cursed existence.

And that was quite something.

**_“Someone must have noticed by now – but no! I have to be stuck down here with you and listen to this bullshit while you idiots just get to ignore it.”_ **

**_“Why can’t you hear it, it’s annoying. It just keeps getting louder and louder with your return.”_ **

“Good point, Lopez! This prototype does need more work in the horizontal range!” Sarge exclaimed and used his shotgun to take down yet another holographic design he had deemed worthless while working on a fix, or a downgrade in the robot’s eyes, for Lopez’ new body.

Lopez, angry enough to need no eyes and arms for the gesture, glared at the Red Sergeant with vehemence, giving him the finger as he crumpled under his breath:

**_“Seriously? Again? I hope they kill you all in your sleep…”_ **

 


	3. Freeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What are you thankful to me for?"

There are a lot of nightmares that can be related to wars both real and fake.

Some of these nightmares take place during the hours of the day while some are there only in the dark.

And for some you really need to be asleep for first.

Out of the nine people currently staying in the Valhalla Outpost, four spend the first few days of their return dreaming only of a scenery dull with snow.

For one the snow was painted red, while another saw it melt as they watched, sliding down the stream to the depths of the ocean below. The third person on the other hand thought he had lost something there in the white plains, not quite remembering what and where he had placed it.

But the fourth one to dream of the freezing, bright waves and pain wasn’t quite sure what he kept seeing could be counted as a nightmare whenever he woke up.

For him, Sidewinder had been a fact _–_ _a few more losses and a goodbye_ –

There truly were worse things to dream of, he thought as he settled back in his bed. If anything, Sidewinder had taught him that there was no time to waste by accepting the state he now was in as the end.

He had work to do and he knew were to start, as soon as he could stand up without anyone else's help.

 

* * *

 

On the other end of the outpost, the one person truly bothered by these daily dreams was also someone more than familiar with the kinds of nightmares he normally had.

Simmons’ dreams had for a long time been filled with hundreds of different yet fundamentally similar voices. Most of them were distant by now, strained and mangled in forms that might have seemed unrelated but were still, always, based on the ones he had grown up listening.

The voices had began as demanding, disappointed, angry – quickly becoming nothing but lacking of emotion. Simmons was used to being left begging for their attention while they had already more than given up on him.

And while someone might say, in kindness maybe, it to be better that way, the silence of disinterest better than the abuse of orders and expectations he could never find in himself to live up to, he didn’t see it like that at all.

Just for one time at least, Simmons would have wanted to have heard the very opposite tones to be backing the words said to him, even if it wasn’t in real life.

That thought led to another type of disappointment whenever he woke up, but even the dreams he had grown used to expecting would have been a blessing compared to the many ways his nightmares had evolved since their return to Valhalla.

Washington, gunshot, snow, Donut _-_   _not quite reaching –_

 

* * *

 

Whatever Grif used to knock himself out in the evenings was making Simmons feel pretty jealous - while before they might not have needed anything, “now” happened to be a bit different for them both. He stared at the other Red, _glared_ was perhaps a little better of a word to use, and the bright red hue of his cybernetic eye was only strengthening the impact in the dark of the room.

But the last thing Simmons wanted was for Grif to wake up again, making this just that much more complicated than it ever should have to be. He already had enough to deal with and he really wasn’t up for any more arguments, the snow still everything he could see as the voice he couldn’t quite place rang painfully in his ears.

And that's the actual problem with "now".

The voice he had heard wasn’t the one of his father or anyone else from Earth; or any of the many versions of those voices anyway.

This one had been more human.

Walking down the hallway, stumbling a little but supported by the night-vision in his eye – the cybernetics did come in handy at times, it was nice to remember – Simmons went to search for any kind of distraction. Heading to the infirmary, the space in actuality way too small to earn to be called that, he hoped to find some pain killers that could do a little to numb down the headaches that had been building up for days now.

Or maybe they even had some actual sleeping medication laying around.

But as he passed by the doorway leading outside the base, Simmons’ feet came to a sudden stop.

Maybe there was something else he could do instead, to clear his head before heading back to bed.

 

* * *

 

Valhalla at night was freezing but Simmons didn’t even notice as he stepped outside. The cold had the effect of helping him breathe easier, whether or not the action was strictly necessary the way he was.

“…Just what did you mean? What are you thankful to me for?”

There was no answer, of course there wasn't because there had been no voice to begin with, and Simmons felt himself sway from side to side with how tired he was. He was barely able to stand and found himself already dreading the walk back inside as he stopped by the edge of the base – he wished he could just stay out here instead.

But then again, the idea of staying was quick to fill his chest with a fear of its own kind.

What if someone _is_ watching us here, Simmons couldn’t help but to think as he looked up at the cliffs with his eye tearing up against the strain of the wind. That had been the idea they had prepared for since they had first returned.

For a moment, he stared up the walls of the outpost but couldn’t see anything, letting out a strained breath of relief.

What had he even been expecting to see; the voices didn’t exist, and no other "threat" did either.

Simmons let out a pained chuckle, tiredly wiping at his organic eye to force it to stay open.

Valhalla really was freezing and he wasn’t wearing but one layer of barely covering nightwear that did nothing to protect him against the cool air, the metallic limbs and organs already burning against his leftover flesh and guts.

Still, Simmons couldn’t feel the cold nor the stinging pain it left behind. This was nothing compared to the chill when the temperature dropped back at Blood Gulch, the desert like qualities of the area having enforced the impact.

But Valhalla was different - its clear weather peaceful in a way that sometimes reminded Simmons of… Earth. The place they had left behind, to become nothing more than a bunch of useless, talentless simulation troopers.

Failures.

Simmons shook his head, interrupting his thoughts which made it feel like really he was inching for a state of borderline insanity. After all, having his rambling thoughts replace the insults of the dreams he hadn't had only for a few nights was bad enough for multiple reasons. No way would he allow himself to actually start missing them.

And while he knew that there was no way he could get back to sleep the way he was feeling, he really needed to stop going down whatever paths his mind was attempting to take him. Which meant he needed to do something he knew for a fact to calm him down enough to get some rest in the early hours of the quickly approaching morning.

“Least I can do is… something useful…” Simmons mumbled as he finally turned his eyes away from the cliffs and re-entered the base.

The next three hours he spent doing a complete inventory of their not-that-long-ago replenished supplies.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short, lazy chapter existing for unclear (?) reasons… Well, for similarly unclear (??) reasons, this and the next chapter get to be posted at the same time!  
> \--  
> The tag “Intentionally slow-paced” is indeed very intentional. For what that means… I almost feel like I should apologise in advance?


	4. This silence is haunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I said: how did it go?”

“I need to do something…”

What a line to wake up to, Grif thought drowsily. He blinked heavily and turned to look at Simmons who sat on his bed and stared at the wall behind Grif with a stoic expression.

“About what?” Grif mumbled and snorted when his question made Simmons jump. His eyes were wide as he turned to him and there was a flush covering the right side of his face as his eyes began to dart to every other direction but at Grif.

“I just…” Simmons began when Grif raised a questioning eyebrow at the long pause that had followed. His voice was quiet but Grif was too tired to actually pay it any mind, waiting for a reply. “You know…”

“I really don’t”, Grif scoffed and forced his body to sit up with effort. The second day after Sidewinder was just about to begin and he really hated everything about it; not that anyone was unclear on that.

Simmons huffed silently and glanced at Grif’s armour on the other end of the room before fixating his eyes on his bandaged hands instead. “You need to change those.”

“That’s not what you were talking about”, Grif pointed out with a glare he directed at his hands, “and _I know_.”

“Do you need help with that?” Simmons asked carefully. “I can –!“

“Sure, whatever”, Grif interrupted again, his annoyance at how sick he was feeling right about now making it impossible to focus on the other’s words. “Just what _were you_ talking about? I’m not in the mood for this shit, Simmons.”

Saying he wasn’t in the mood caused confusion to them both, really, considering Grif rarely bothered to be this adamant about anything. But he was tired, and Simmons running in circles while stealing glances at him was getting them nowhere fast.

It was getting hard to ignore.

Simmons frowned, doing exactly as said with his eyes turning uncomfortably back to Grif’s armour before looking at him again. They hadn’t spoken a word on the previous day, Grif having hid away in their room and already asleep – or pretending to be so anyway – by the time Simmons appeared after a long day of attempting to distract himself with literally anything else.

“It’s… Uh.” Simmons bit his lip, hiding away his already unreadable expression. “It’s Sarge.”

“As it always is”, Grif grunted and stretched his back, the headache at least seeming to have gone down from what it had been the day before. “What’s going on?”

“He’s really into making Lopez that new body”, Simmons replied, his voice lacking emotion. “But that can’t last forever.”

“Meaning…?”

“…We really need to make this work with the Blues.”

Grif felt like falling straight back into bed, the warmth of the covers awaiting him, but instead he simply let his head drop forward in defeat. He had known this would have to be done, and even he agreed that sooner was a hell of a lot better than later. For all of them. “How?”

“Sarge is the only one who’ll want to continue the war, for real, once he’s done with this… project. He’ll get bored in no time, we all know that… So… Well, he put me in charge of our defences in the meanwhile, and Tucker and I agreed that it's not smart to –”

“– let Sarge face the Blues, serious or not, for as long as they’ve got Washington in their ranks?” Grif finished if only to interrupt the pointless parts of the rant before Simmons could even get started, shaking his head and then rolling his eyes for the added effect to show just how incredibly done he was.

“Okay, I see your point. What are you planning to do about it?”

 

* * *

 

To Simmons’ credit, he had looked pretty apologetic over the entire thing, doing his everything to help Grif out by fulfilling his requests even without having to be directly asked to. The maroon soldier knew his routines, after all – it was easy enough for him to prepare for them in advantage.

It wasn’t that bad, Grif had to admit as he had watched Simmons bring in his breakfast and medication, along with the fresh set of bandages. It allowed him to get whatever help he might have needed without giving out any admittance on how badly he had actually _did need it_.

And if all Grif had to do in return was to hike to the cliffs by the Blue Base, and meet up with Tucker behind Sarge’s back while Simmons was stuck working for the man, then that was a small enough price to pay. He supposed so at least, still tired and in pain, hating the fact that the meeting wasn’t being held somewhere where he could have driven the entire way over.

But still, all in all, Grif found himself almost enjoying the walk after setting off – it seemed that after staying in bed for a day, uncomfortable beyond belief, the preferred option was to not force himself to stick to one spot for too long.

And that was a rare thing on its own, even if not in the most reassuring of ways for someone with his general mind-set towards the more “physical activities” in life.

Grif sighed.

Another fact was that the sooner he healed and was able to get back to his lazier routines, the better.

 

* * *

 

“Fatass, hi”, Tucker greeted when he finally made it to the top of the cliff. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Yeah, well, only just heard about _this_ ”, Grif grumbled through his halting breaths and gestured around them. He threw his helmet on the ground and dropped down as well, catching his breath to the best of his ability. The effort to get here really had taken his mind off of the pain, somehow. “Didn’t know you could be so crafty…”

Back at the Sidewinder, when Doc had been tying down Grif’s bleeding hands, Tucker and Simmons had apparently began to arrange their next course of action with whatever UNSC would have planned for them after coming to their "rescue".

Now that it was time to put those plans in action, and with Simmons busy with Sarge’s empty orders, Grif had to step up to find out how to best prepare the two teams for their attempt to appear still at war with one another without actually letting Sarge kill them all.

They could have maybe done this over the radio but the entire group had issues with the idea, considering they didn’t know if there actually _was_ someone from the UNSC listening in at Valhalla. Wouldn’t be that odd of a thing if there was, they had experienced worse before.

“Hey, I have my moments!” Tucker grinned briefly before his eyes darkened. “Kinda have to, now…”

Grif didn’t know what to say to that, what had happened to Church something he didn't completely get and wasn’t interested to dwell on. Instead, he went with the one thing he actually was curious about: “Washington still out of it?”

“Pretty much”, Tucker replied and waved a hand in an attempt to show he didn’t give a shit about the guy although he still kept on talking, “both Doc and Caboose are keeping him company for the time being but we’ve had a few chats.”

“Meaning?”

“He’s going to be staying with us, for now”, Tucker said, “and participate in this cover-up to keep UNSC out of our business. Although he knows it’s nothing real, he’s actually pretty… uncomfortable with the idea, from what I can tell. So, he shouldn’t be a problem.”

Grif frowned at that. Tucker lifted a brow at Grif’s questioning look and went on to add: “He’s not a fan of simulation outposts.”

“Who would be?” Grif snorted but his voice was quiet enough to show he knew there was something to that. “He’ll try not to do Sarge any bodily harm, huh?”

Tucker chuckled. “As long as Sarge doesn’t do it first, yeah. We’ll keep it simple.” He tilted his chin as he regarded Grif with a question of his own: “How are you holding up?”

Grif sniffed, lifting his bandaged arms a little for added impact. “Not well enough.”

“Can see that”, Tucker hummed. “The little time we’ll spend here, we better make it work from the start. So, here’s the idea: you tell us every plan Sarge makes in advantage and we play along when he comes for us.”

“…What do you mean by ‘little time’? You going somewhere?”

Tucker laughed at that, pointing in Grif’s general direction in amusement before waving a hand dismissively as if what he was saying next wasn’t that big a deal at all: “Not going to last forever, this here, and I do have better things to do than spend the rest of my life with you shitheads. Also, don’t forget I have a kid now – I can’t just never go check up on Junior.”

“Oh…” Grif said, actually having forgotten exactly that. He frowned at the realisation that yes, Tucker had a half-alien child and was also apparently an ambassador of some kind so he was the one person here who really should have better things to do than defend an empty outpost from their attempt to ease Sarge’s boredom. “Where even is he?”

“With his kind at the moment, left him there before going to the Temple”, Tucker replied smoothly, hiding any and all emotion that might have been tied to those words. “It’s good for him… Spending time learning shit with someone who understands everything he’s saying and all that.”

“Oh…” Grif repeated dully, watching the faraway look on Tucker face as the Blue looked past him. It really was unnerving to remember how much had changed – Tucker’s the last person Grif ever expected to grow up.

Although no, there wasn’t too much competition for that title in this canyon alone; he probably should have seen Tucker be in the better end of the deal.

“Got to go, already been too long – can you believe I’m supposed to be the ‘ _responsible_ ’ one of us right now, only Caboose left and with Washington still down? Fuck that”, Tucker snorted with his emotion still hidden away, right after they were done with their arrangement.

With a private channel established for communication between the two teams, along with a list of Freelancer and Sidewinder -related subjects they were to not discuss on open lines because of the possibility of surveillance, they were officially working behind Sarge’s back for the greater good of the two teams. How cool is that.

“Really can’t”, Grif replied, more in regards to his earlier thoughts on the subject of maturity than anything else, and turned to walk away. His mind was already getting close to short-circuiting with how numbed by pain he again was after the break he had had here. “But it actually feels pretty good to have this much sorted out at least…”

“Honestly?” Tucker said, putting his helmet back on with a sigh to match the hiss of the lock. “Your team’s the problem here, I shouldn’t even have to be doing this.”

“…Sure am glad to have you on our side.”

It was true enough, Grif thought with a chuckle as he walked away. 

Sarge was the one preparing to continue the war for no other reason than payback, excited to have a real advisory on the other side of the canyon now – Washington had shot down two of his men, after all.

If anyone was watching them, the Reds and Blues would have no problem making the following fight look real enough. And even if it only worked for the entertainment of that someone, it was good enough.

 

* * *

 

With the meeting done with, Grif walked down the pathway on the edges of the cliff and slowly went to put his helmet back on as well, partially to ensure Sarge didn’t see him without the main piece of his armour on.

Stumbling his way down the path with endless curses under his breath, Grif called Simmons to take his mind off the way his muscles protested the movement.

The helmet radio turned on with loud static that Grif regarded with a wince.

_“–y are here, why –e the– ?“_

Grif frowned at the garbled noise coming through the channel. ~~~~

Their equipment had never worked perfectly in Valhalla, and Simmons had said it was all thanks to one of the only radio towers in the area having been destroyed by the previous occupants for whatever reason. But as Grif knew his helmet wasn't exactly in the perfect shape to begin with, it was annoying to be reminded of the maintenance he would have to get someone else to do for him at some point soon.

Speaking of which –  ~~~~

“Simmons? You there?” Grif asked in annoyance as he tried to get the channel to work. There was no answer at first but then, through the loud crackling of the static, he heard a soft mumble of what appeared to be words he couldn’t quite make out:

_“N-no, I am –”_

Grif paused, lifting a brow at the possible, maybe words. The channel was popping, trying to connect still, and he was getting beyond pissed as he asked Simmons to clarify: “What the fuck are you _saying_?”

 _“I said: how did it go?”_ Simmons repeated, startling Grif as the channel followed the words with a loud squeak and some more static that made his ears ring.

“R-right”, Grif said, clearing his head with a shake before he scowled. “We’re on the same page.”

Over the radio, the actual details were to be avoided for a few days longer at least. If around, UNSC would no doubt get bored of their nonsense in no time.

 _“Good”,_ Simmons replied with what sounded like relief in his voice. _“I’ll… I’ll meet you on top of the Base?”_

“Whatever.”

 

* * *

 

In what someone might call their daily routine ever since Blood Gulch, Grif and Simmons met up on the roof of the Red Base as the evening began to settle.

Simmons regarded Grif’s arrival with a glance his way before turning back to the bright orange ocean under the setting sun. For a second, Grif wondered if Simmons had also stood there the day before.

Immediately ignoring the thought as one of the many questions he was never going to bother asking, Grif again took off his helmet just like Simmons had done some time earlier, the maroon soldier still otherwise in full armour and framed by the untouched scenery behind him.

Valhalla had never looked like a location meant for a war - fake or not - and as Grif walked up the ramp to join the other, he found the view to be disturbing.

Too calm, too bright.

There was no snow or a cliff, but the sudden way he then replaced that memory with drowning wasn’t any better at all. Grif shook his head, the headache building bright red behind his eyelids as he closed them, and took the final step forward to stand by Simmons’ side.

“Did Tucker want anything?” Simmons asked, careful to not look in Grif’s direction.

“No – peace is good enough of a bargaining chip, I guess”, Grif replied with a yawn, beyond tired after the walk to the other end of the outpost.

Simmons hummed under his breath, seeming grateful to have that sorted out as he turned around to look at the path Grif had taken, the apology painting his features long before he even managed to get the words out: “Sorry you had to do that…”

“What?”

“You know…” Simmons said with a sigh, repeating the same points like a broken record by now, “with your injuries, it’s not… ideal.”

Grif squinted at Simmons and then smirked, hiding his discomfort at noticing the way Simmons looked, the sun’s final rays making his blank gaze and the circles under his eyes obvious. “This again? You’re really that _worried_?”

Simmons made a face and then snorted belatedly, Grif also chuckling as he did get Simmons’ point more than well. His body had protested the trip enough even before getting on with it, but he hadn’t exactly had another option with Sarge dragging Simmons away to “work” on the ever-growing collection of holographic Lopezs.

“The sooner we get this bullshit figured out, the better”, Grif added after a moment to let the subject drop, once again, already looking forward to the times when he could enjoy the so-called peace for what it was worth. And with everything needed for it done with a simple enough walk up the hill, he was taking comfort in how little effort really was needed from his part to achieve it.

“Yeah…” was Simmons’ simple reply, glancing at Grif and then turning to walk down the ramp with the tan man following close behind him.

“Sarge can –“, Grif went on to say, but was stopped short in both his words and steps as he walked straight into Simmons’ back and stumbled. “What the hell?”

Simmons stood still and stared up at the cliff in silence, his gaze still empty.

“What?” Grif snapped, looking up the hill himself and then at Simmons who swallowed, slowly turning to face Grif’s glare with shock appearing to flicker in  his eyes.

“…did you –“

“– what the fuck is wrong with you?” Grif finished for Simmons, simply watching as Simmons spun his head around to turn right back to staring at the cliff with no expression. Again, Grif followed his gaze but saw nothing there.

Not seen by Grif, in the reflections of the setting sun and the water softly rippling behind their backs, the shadow on the cliff had appeared and slipped away in the blink of an eye.

“What are you looking at, the Blues?” Grif asked sarcastically, knowing the answer to be “no” long before Simmons even shook his head and actually replied, way more seriously than Grif had expected him to:

“N-no way, we just took care of that…!”

“…You actually saw something?”

There had been something overly panicked hiding beneath Simmons’ voice, Grif realised now, and the shadows falling over his face made Grif frown. He glanced between Simmons and the range of the cliffs, the rocky walls surrounding them, trying to catch on to the reason why.

“What was it?”

Again, he found himself surprised when Simmons actually did answer:

“I… It was probably nothing. Almost like a… person, but the shadows were probably just… yeah.”

Simmons chuckled awkwardly at the end of his reply and didn’t look Grif’s way when he went to take unsteady steps forward, setting off to walk down the ramp.

“…Yeah, okay”, Grif said and squinted up at the edge for one last time before following after Simmons’ hurrying steps with a small smirk making its way on his face, although it lacked any actual mirth. “And you’re _sure_ it wasn’t a person?” ~~~~

Simmons croaked out to respond to the obvious insult in the statement but instead, yet again with a sense of déjà vu and dread, ended up only nodding slowly – but Grif, not looking his way, completely missed the gesture.

Seeing that he was on his own with this, Simmons really was too tired to rationally think it through and simply chose to run away instead, inside the relative safety provided by the Red Base. That was the most important thing for now, and the easiest option to go with it was for him to finally state:

“It was _nothing_.”

 


	5. It moves, it follows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Right… Let’s just get this done with and the–“

The previous evening had been all about the realisation that there was no stopping his curiosity from overtaking the need to ignore everything; he _needed to know_ if something was happening within the limits of what could be considered the backyard of the Reds and Blues.

For Simmons’ piece of mind, or not, Grif used the just established channel to reach Tucker only to confirm that yes, he had stayed behind on the cliff by his side of the outpost and certainly hadn’t followed Grif back towards the Red Base.

If Simmons had seen something, it wasn't any of the Blues.

Both Grif and Simmons were quiet in that regard, with even Tucker having simply laughed it off. They weren't sure how to go about addressing the idea that maybe someone was physically there with them, instead of UNSC just listening in on their calls. And whether or not it would actually be the UNSC or some completely unattached entity - or nothing at all which really was the only acceptable option _-_  it was still discomforting to know there might be lifeforms separate from them living right by their “home”.

It wouldn’t exactly be the first time, but at the same time… Just like Tucker, Grif wasn’t having any of it.

While Simmons' own state was having the opposite effect on him, Grif was just too tired to even bother with the idea.

“I mean”, Simmons said, uncomfortably, “we both know it was nothing, trust me! So, we can just as well go and check it out…”

“Sure thing…” Grif grunted, too out of it to even insult him anymore now that Simmons' mind had been completely focused on this _'nothing'_. He simply lay in bed and flat on his face, trying his best to ignore everything. “But I am _not_ going in there with you.”

Simmons halted, looking up from his hands and glaring at Grif. His following words were dripping vehemence that actually caught them both by surprise:

“ _And why’s that, fatass_?”

Grif whistled at that because _oh wow_ , what a low blow coming from Simmons, _especially Simmons_ , considering that he really should know better after everything he had preached ever since the Sidewinder.

“You know _why_ ”, Grif practically snarled and lifted himself up to his elbows just to give Simmons the finger with great effort, the bandages and the following, pained grimace making the gesture truly show he meant it. “Plus, there’s nothing going on and, even if there was, you can fucking deal with the bats on your own!”

Simmons seemed to curl in on himself just a touch, taken aback by the fact that there was a point to what Grif was saying, not catching on to the rest of it to fuel the fire.

When Simmons didn’t say anything, Grif huffed. He just wanted to be over with this, over with everything, and Simmons clearly was dealing with some shit of his own. Maybe the smart thing wasn’t to let him get himself killed while he wandered off on his own without any reset in between.

“You know… You can always find _someone else_ to go with you if that’s really what you want to do…”

 

* * *

 

“Seriously? No way is anyone here, the UNSC wouldn’t waste the effort with how much trouble they’re in with the remains of Project Freelancer, even Wash was pretty sure of that… And there’s nothing in this dumb worth looking after, certainly not _us,_ and the Blue Base doesn’t even have a working fucking radio tower! Everything else there Caboose told me he took apart for that Church-clone attempt of his, the parts apparently having already been cleaned off by the UNSC”, Tucker pointed out with a surprisingly solid argument to back him up as he crossed his arms.

He really wanted things to remain as simple as they were and Simmons couldn’t exactly disagree with the sentiment.

Simmons glanced at the silhouette of the Blue Base in the distance and also went to cross his arms, prepared for this talk since the moment Grif had given him the idea. In the early morning following his sighting of the not-a-person, he had called Tucker to arrange to meet him at the same spot he had seen Grif the day before - and here they were.

“We said the same thing about Blood Gulch and found an entire underground lair watching, controlling and recording our every move… Why wouldn’t these guys have the same setup prepared for the soldiers who were here before us?” Simmons replied with his voice steady. He then smirked tiredly. “But I agree – I don’t think there’s anything to find! And as long as it gets confirmed, you will get paid… Win-win for you, as far as I can tell.”

“…You going for another deal?” Tucker asked with squinted, untrusting eyes.

“A deal, yes, why not? Fuck if I am going down there on my own”, Simmons said with a shrug of his shoulders. “So, you come with me to confirm there’s nothing going on and, once we know we are as safe as we can be with only Sarge still going for the whole ‘war’ thing, you will get paid.”

“Depends on the pay but otherwise that sounds good to me. I’m afraid of no hole”, Tucker said with pride and patted the sword by his side just as Simmons flinched at the comment. The cyborg immediately waved a hand and hurried to interrupt Tucker before he could follow up with either any uncalled for one-liners or double takes.

“I-I get you”, Simmons snorted and then glanced around almost conspiratorially, serious enough look crossing his features for Tucker to catch that he meant it as he added: “That’s the main reason you are the one here and not Donut…”

The Private in question had been complaining about the forced bedrest ever since the group’s arrival to Valhalla, and he’d be more than happy to be here – no injury would have held him back.

Tucker nodded slowly, also looking behind himself as if Donut could materialise by their side just by having his name mentioned, along with the faithful promise of a cave search.

“So… I’d rather make another deal with a Blue and avoid the headache”, Simmons chuckled half-heartedly to have something to add to the conversation, “even if just to piss off Sarge…”

That last part of that statement was meant for Grif, Simmons supposed, and Tucker seemed to appreciate the attempted jokes well enough.

 

* * *

 

While Tucker went to sneak back to the Blue Base – neither of them wanted to alert any of their eccentric teammates, and least of all the apparently very cranky patient that was Agent Washington – to pick up the rest of his gear for “the mission”, Simmons turned to glare towards the Red Base.

His gaze still managed to flicker back at the entrance to the caves every few seconds, now that he had moved to wait for Tucker right by it.

“…Tucker gets paid for this, Grif stays behind, and what do I get?”

 _“What do you want?”_ Grif would probably ask, annoyingly pointed with his sarcasm and the same bored tone as the evening before. _“You’re the one trying to figure this shit out, and Tucker could easily try to fuck you over to get the goods if you don’t go in with him. Plus, again, I wouldn’t be much use to you. So don’t even try.”_

Solid argument there, imaginary Grif, Simmons thought with a tired chuckle. He could practically see the way Grif would then smirk at him before, once again, lifting his bandaged palms to dramatically show them off – it was a very effective form of blackmail against the maroon soldier’s… guilt? Worry?

Simmons was more than aware of how Grif was still running on the painkillers that were making him beyond his usual levels of tired and cranky, to put it mildly. Dragging his ass through the depths of a cavern leading who knows where wasn’t exactly Simmons’ ideal day’s work, but neither was going down there with _Tucker_.

He really had no idea what he was doing this for.

“Where did you even get those magazines and… the rest”, Simmons mumbled to keep himself occupied with the somewhat unrelated matters of concern, in this case meaning the contraband he had stolen from Grif to bait Tucker into joining him. The teal armoured soldier hadn’t had anything with him when they had come to Valhalla, he seemed pretty desperate to get a hold of anything to keep him “sane”.

 _“You said it was nothing, didn’t you?”_  Imaginary Grif ignored the change of subject in an attempt to insult Simmons with his own mantra, the audible smirk not faltering.

That’s how easy it was to take a hit at the mood of annoyance Simmons had been building up in his defence.

“It _is_ nothing!” Simmons snapped out loud, too loud, shrinking a little at the prospect. Fuck, no way did he believe in those words; them being a lie actually had to be better than the idea that he was just losing it for some another reason entirely. “Nothing to worry about… You know that just as well as I do… Better than I do?”

Luckily for Simmons that’s when Tucker showed up and made him shut his mouth in an instant.

“Ready to go?” Tucker asked with a cheer to his voice, only thinking of the easy pay-check Simmons had prepared for him. The cyborg simply nodded without another word.

There might still be something in the cave _– no way there was –_ and that's why the two were armed to the teeth; even if to Tucker this was all just the Reds being their paranoid selves.

If the plan had been Sarge’s idea, Simmons would have more than agreed. But no, it was all on him and that’s what made him so terrified.

 

* * *

 

Entering the cave, Tucker had opted to pull out the sword to light their path with its clear-blue hue. The part of Simmons that had been successfully trained – _brainwashed?_ – to hate the colour wasn’t a huge fan of the mix of teal blue and the dark of the shadows painting their way, but he held his tongue from pointing it out. He chose to stick to his helmet light, even if it did very little in comparison to the glow Tucker omitted.

Just one more thing to feel annoyed by, Tucker literally taking the spotlight on a mission led by Simmons.

“You think you saw someone by the entrance, at night, and that’s literally it?” Tucker asked for the hundredth of time, a familiar smirk stuck to his voice although there was also a thoughtful pause there before he continued: “Would UNSC _really_ need someone to watch over us, physically here? That would be… a ton more effort than we gave them credit for. They should know better than to be bothered by us, we're just sim trooper or whatever-the-fuck.”

“I agree”, Simmons said sullenly and actually meant it, he found. “They’d have other ways to do this, no need to get more people involved…”

“So this is us checking out the possibility of _someone else_ messing with us, without telling anyone else back at the Bases. If you thought there actually was a problem, wouldn’t you take it a little more seriously?”

Simmons frowned at that: Serious is exactly what they were going for here, wasn’t it? Right now, at Valhalla, he and Tucker were literally the only ones in any shape – out of those you can trust with the job that is – to be doing any underground searches.

“We are armed, we have just won over the Meta… I think we are plenty enough to check out one cave that shouldn’t fit much of a threat even if there actually is something going on down here…” Those words Simmons didn’t mean as much as the ones before.

It really wasn’t the UNSC he was worried about, but… something had to be wrong here. Maybe. Hopefully not. Couldn’t be.

But that heavy doubt and the way it unrelentingly scratched at the back of his mind was why he held the rifle in a strong grip, not allowing his stance to falter as they continued onward.

Tucker only glanced his way, huffing under his breath as they walked.

“All I’m saying; the moment we get to a dead end, I’m out of here.”

Simmons nodded slowly, unable to do nothing but agree with Tucker’s point yet immensely annoyed over having to be in this situation to begin with. The Blue just didn’t get it, not that Simmons had actually tried to explain what was troubling him - or knew what it was to begin with.

It was all so complicated for no good reason, his pained mind unable to keep up as they hurried deeper into the depths of Valhalla.

“Right… Let’s just get this done with and the–“

They didn’t get far.

Simmons stalled, his words falling to a stop in an instant as his eyes widened. Less than a second later, he screeched out at the top of his lungs:

“ _W-WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!?_ ”

Tucker didn’t take the time to answer as he barely looked in the direction Simmons was staring at before the two of them spun around. Screaming, they sprinted back the way they had come without studying the sight any further.

The shadow against the cave’s wall tilted slightly, remaining on its spot for a moment longer before being wiped into the dark left behind by the retreating illumination the two soldiers had brought in with them.

A hopeful sigh and the echoing sound of dragged feet followed, but Tucker and Simmons were already long gone and efficiently covering the voices with their own panicked yells.

They hadn't even taken the time to realise that they had the necessary arsenal to either attack or protect themselves with, which wasn’t exactly a good thing considering what this one meeting alone would cause for the next few days of their stay back at Valhalla, the place brilliantly named after someone’s apparent foresight.

It would have been so much simpler to just address the issue then and there.

 


	6. Trust you at the wheel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In a cave! In shitty-ass lighting!"

Tucker and Simmons burst out from the cave screaming, less than fifteen minutes after walking in there in the first place.

“ _What happened?!_ ” was the first thing Tucker managed to get out as loud as he could to be heard through Simmons’ side of the freak-out, both of them gasping for breath and putting as much distance between themselves and the entrance as they possibly could on the limited area on the cliff.

“A-a shadow, _this guy_ , all bloody a-and, I DON’T KNOW!” Simmons yelled out and gestured desperately at the entrance, wanting nothing more than to flee. He noticed Tucker forcefully clearing his mind by leaning on the rocks for support and lifting the sword into a defensive pose between himself and the entrance, Simmons finally figuring out that pointing his rifle at the dark of the space was probably a good idea. “ _Waved at –!_ “

“There was someone actually there?!” Tucker interrupted, turning to look between Simmons and the cave with swift turns of his head. “You actually saw a dude?”

“I don’t know!! Don’t ask me!” Simmons snapped which was obviously a very bad idea as Tucker’s hold on the sword loosened immediately and his stare turned into a very pointed glare, even with a visor in the way.

“Okay…”

Tucker's voice grew as stoic as the frown behind his helmet, his volume lowering and words slowing down as nothing else seemed to be exiting the cave in their footsteps. The look of the two soldiers didn’t exactly scream danger either, besides the now quickly fleeting panic.

Tucker glared at Simmons whose visor was still pointed towards the cave in silence, clinging onto his rifle with his hands shaking. “Explain.”

Simmons spun his head around and took a small step further away from the cave, his stance going still all of a sudden as if he had just realised the situation they were in. He took a deep breath and then shook his head slowly, forcing himself to calm down and think.

“I… I saw a shadow.”

“A shadow?” Tucker threw back, tilting his head in a rather terrifying way as Simmons made a point of not looking at him. “Anything to add to that?“

Simmons didn’t say anything, gritting his teeth at the realisation.

Tucker hadn’t seen anything.

Even Tucker hadn’t seen –

“ _WHAT THE FUCK!_ ” Tucker screeched and Simmons’ eyes widened as the Blue strode towards him and pointed at his chest accusingly, forcefully shoving at him with the digit along with each yelled out word:

“What! The! _Fuck_!”

“I –“, Simmons tried to get out but before he could, Tucker ripped off his own helmet to actually show the glare directed at him. His eyes were wide with anger as he began to gesture between the Red and the cave.

“You are seriously telling me there was nothing? What the hell; _what the fuck, Simmons!_ ”

Tucker was still attempting to catch his breath throughout his outburst, now shaking his head and beginning to pace back and forth as Simmons looked away. The cyborg was also breathing heavily and, if anything, it went to show just how freaked out he was.

But Tucker wasn’t about to notice that one.

“It wasn’t _nothing_ ”, Simmons said weakly after a long pause, sticking to his story for the first time in the past few days. Tucker spun his head around to stare at him again.

“A shadow! I saw a shadow! In a cave! In shitty-ass lighting! Thought you knew what it was, giving us a reason to _run our asses off to get away from it!_ ” Tucker continued his yelling. “ _What the fuck is wrong with you!_ ”

When it became clear Simmons wasn’t just suddenly going to snap out of it and make light of the situation, Tucker fell silent. He seemed to be challenging the maroon soldier to tell him why he shouldn’t just kick his ass, the sword still shaking in his hand.

The unfamiliarity was making Tucker freak out, Simmons realised. The Blue wanted to get out of here.

He wasn't the only one, Simmons thought with his teeth grit.

And so Simmons managed to shrug, switching right back to his earlier roles with the help of an apparent nonchalantness. Not looking at the cave again, he stepped forward to take Tucker’s full attention. “Alright, anyway… You didn’t stick around long enough to see what was actually going on, so, the deal’s off.”

Tucker did a double take, frowning for a split second before snapping: “Works for me! Who gives a shit, I’m not going back _in there_ to waste my fucking time!”

There was something uneasy in the way Tucker glanced past Simmons at the entrance of the cave and it was clear he had no interest to admit just how unnerved he actually was. Maybe he had seen more than he was telling now, but denial was the easiest way to get past the possibility.

Simmons really was jealous of the Blue for being able to keep his stance.

And because of that, Tucker earned himself the initial prepayment’s worth of “reading material” and one half-empty bottle of whiskey to go back to the Blue Base with.

 

* * *

 

“Busy day?” Grif asked when Simmons appeared back at the base, squinting at the way Simmons flinched at getting caught; Grif had surprised him in the middle of sneaking back in, a type of a walk of shame considering his team-up with a Blue.

It wasn't ideal in his current state of mind, leaving the cyborg to force himself to not point the rifle at the other in his shock.

“Uh… Yeah, you could say that…” Simmons managed to say and was beyond relieved to still be wearing his helmet to hide his expression – he knew he had to look practically insane by now, his brow twitching and his one eye watering with how he seemed to forget how to blink with his mind wandering.

Grif tilted his head and there were shadows under his eyes as well as he nodded. “You weren’t gone for long, though.”

“Oh, yeah, turns out I was right!” Simmons tried to add a note of cheerfulness and maybe even relief to his voice, but there was no hiding the squeak of discomfort he felt at attempting to fool someone who knew him more than well by now, and would no doubt see right through him. “Nothing to be found in the caves, simple as that.”

“Great”, Grif simply said and walked forward, right past Simmons but giving him a look that was pointedly showing he didn’t believe a word, as expected. “And just so you know…”

“W-what?” Simmons asked, following after Grif almost automatically to not be left alone with his own head screaming at him to run, still. Grif remained quiet for a while longer, glancing at Simmons with an unreadable look as if seeming to get lost in thought before letting out an annoyed huff.

“…Sarge has something he needs you for, in the holo-room.”

Simmons had a feeling that wasn’t what Grif had wanted to say but he took what he could get. And Sarge was a well-known distraction, case in point them basing their entire plan against UNSC’s spies on him.

He thought it could be nothing but a good course of action to clear his mind for a bit, and it’s not like Simmons had anything else he could be doing next to get on with his witch-hunt.

But of course he was wrong.

Going to the holo-room offered him nothing more than the confirmation that there was no moment’s worth of peace to pretend he wasn’t facing something tearing his very reality apart.

 

* * *

 

A ten or so minutes into his stay with Sarge, which mostly included Simmons carrying around a couple of wrenches and being told not to touch anything, he put his full attention in studying the haunting way the many holograms of Lopez were standing in a half circle around the table placed in the middle of the room.

The table was covered in different designs and insane looking ramblings that Simmons had no doubt no one but Sarge, if even him, was able to read. The many faces of Lopez were silent, not moving an inch with no need breathe or _exist_ beyond being asked to stand there and be shot down when Sarge finally deemed each of them worthless.

There could only be one winner, after all, and even the one would actually have to be made into a physical form to be of any use.

And as Simmons watched them, bored out of his mind and thankful still for the way these thoughts managed to be enough to distract him from the irrational fear he was beginning to drown in, the actual head of Lopez next to him continued to curse in silence and similarly glare at the holograms he was surrounded by.

But then there was a break to the words of Spanish, the only sound left being Sarge talking to himself somewhere far behind Simmons.

Simmons turned to look at Lopez in question, immediately noticing the static-like flashes on one of the holograms closest by the robot’s side. There was something –

As he watched, the projection of the tall, robotic body twisted, took an unsteady step forward and out of line from the others. Its arm raised haltingly just as Simmons felt his mouth drop and a breathless gasp make its way out of him.

The hologram waved at him, there was no other way to describe the twitching break of the movement and the visor turning towards him, and with that it’s safe to say Simmons had a hard time covering for the scream that followed.

He immediately spun around and ran up the stairs and out of the room, still screaming throughout the too-long elevator ride as if his very mind had been left behind in the underground halls – leaving Sarge to yell after him and ask when he had taken up on practicing Donut’s duties on the Red Team.

It’s not like Donut had died for real, he didn’t actually need to be replaced.

 

* * *

 

Simmons knew he was overreacting. He just knew it.

But at the same time, seeing something that immediately drew his mind straight back at the shadowy memories in the depths of the cave was probably a good enough reason to just lose it.

And so, he ran. To the opposite direction this time.

At first he wasn’t sure where he was heading but by the time he had exited the Red Base and turned towards the cliffs, there wasn’t that much of a question of where and more importantly _why_.

There really weren’t that many places to go, in Valhalla.

“The cave, the fucking cave – _it was nothing but a shadow_ ”, Simmons rambled on as he simultaneously tried to tell himself to stop. But his feet weren’t listening to the leftovers of his rational mind, his body moving him along.

The funny thing there is how Simmons’ first real mistake was talking out loud right by the Red Base, not for a second sparing a thought to the possibility that there was someone else around.

Meaning, obviously, that someone was right there, almost as if waiting for him as he ran.

“It, it was nothing! Nothing! No reason to go back in the _fucking cave_ ”, Simmons whined as he kept on going, right for the said place. “I am just losing it, yeah! There is no reason to make this any bigger of a deal than, it is! I am just tired, why can’t I –”

“– _Oh hi, Simmons!_ ”

The loud exclamation, too cheerful for the desperation sweeping through Simmons’ mind, was enough to make him stumble on his feet, screaming again as he fell forward only to catch his step at the last moment and coming to a stop right in front of the Private.

“When have you been in a cave, huh?”

At the cheerful question, and a surprisingly quick sense of relief over how mild the words had been with _that setup_ , Simmons threw his head around and stood up straight to face the other. Donut was leaning on a rock, the bandages visible from underneath his shirt with him not wearing his armour yet.

It was as if Simmons had been ambushed. Again.

And honestly, it had worked embarrassingly well to snap him right back out of his panicked state.

Donut tilted his head and, even with the curious look on his face still, somehow, managed to appear almost like a parent, having stayed up until the early hours of the morning to see you try to sneak in and speak yourself out of trouble.

This really was happening a little too often, Simmons aware that he was making it a little too obvious to the entire team how out of it he was getting by the day.

“Uh…”

“Why the hurry? Are you _plotting_ something without me?” Donut asked, pushing himself away from the rocks and sliding towards Simmons who took a step back in alert. “Is there something _going on_?”

Simmons recognised the look in Donut’s eyes as exactly what it was, the glint not just curiosity but a shade of barely held back desperation as well. He was familiar enough with it based on his own, current, reflections alone.

But the lightish-red soldier had been cooped up for three days now, even more time spend lying around in his armour-lock. Of course he had been walking around the first chance he got and would be all in to cling on to the possibility of… anything to do.

Fuck.

“Not really”, Simmons said and surprised himself by how level he managed to make his voice, forcing his shoulders to relax. The last strands of rationality he had over the possibility of there being a logical reason for his fears came to the immediate conclusion that Donut’s interest in it was a definite sign of danger; whether or not there was something happening, or someone from the UNSC listening, Donut knowing of the suspicions would make it to the ears of everyone around.

“Ohhh, but you said ‘ _this isn't what I wanted, I need to explain_ ’ and ‘ _no reason to go back in the cave’_ while running right for it! So there’s definitely some plotting involved!” Donut tone was as chipper as ever but there was a sudden hardness to his gaze as he held his arms behind his back, swaying back and forth on his tippy toes as he patiently waited for the other Red to come up with his excuses.

“Okay, yes, it’s been a while since we have been here, so, you know, Sarge told me to”, Simmons began and grit his teeth, running through the somewhat believable answers, “check the perimeter!”

Donut tilted his head and Simmons nodded stoically, continuing before the other Private could say a word: “And it’s been checked, nothing else to report –!“

“But you’re obviously going back there, so there has to be something – if you ask me, the second time is always better on both parties! And a cave search, those are my specialty! You know that!”

“…I don’t think I do”, Simmons said slowly. “I don’t exactly want to, either...”

“I can join you, it would be great! A fieldtrip – and a trip down the memory lane”, Donut chuckled, not even looking at Simmons now that his words were set loose. It was unnatural, even to him, the way Donut’s gaze grew unfocused and his words were dropping with too long of a pause in between each of them.

“Actually, you are in no shape to –“, Simmons tried to cut in, but Donut wasn’t having any of it:

“The cave devil, remember? Back at Blood Gulch? That was Doc! Wasn’t it? Yeah, yeah it was – O’Malley! I could go in, now, and it would be perfect!”

“What’s that got to do… with thi–?“ Simmons tried again, now more confused than anything, but to no such luck.

“Just let me get to that hole, I’ll work it!”

There was a begging look in Donut’s eyes when he snapped them back to Simmons, his arms releasing from behind his back. Without knowing what to do with them, he began to wring his hands like a child.

But there was something demanding in his voice, the unfamiliarity of it making Simmons flinch.

“Sure.”

Simmons’ eyes widened behind his helmet as he realised just what he had said, unable to stop the next words from falling from his lips either:

“You ready to go tomorrow?”

Simmons knew he wasn’t in control but a wave of relief washed over him still as Donut agreed with the idea, the two of them turning around to return to the Red Base together.

One last day of not knowing the truth, Simmons thought, thankful he wasn’t going back on his own.

With Plan A having failed him, it was apparently time to go straight to Plan D.

No regrets.

 

* * *

 

“I need to ask for a favour”, Simmons managed to say when they stood on top of the base. He glanced at Grif but the tan man didn’t spare him a look, only snorting.

“Again? I’m not climbing any more mountains for you…”

Simmons scoffed at that, a flash of a trail of blood taking over for a second before he spoke. There was a serious edge to his voice even as he attempted to go for a joke instead, gesturing at the walls of Valhalla: “That's hardly a mountain… But no, you don’t have to climb. The opposite, really.”

Grif’s expression turned blank and Simmons could imagine the gears turn as he worked out just what that meant for them both.

“You said you were done with this bullshit…”

Apparently, Grif was on the right track.

“I… I am, I just… Just for a few hours, I need to…” Simmons mumbled. He had no excuses ready for why he was still stuck on the idea of the cave, none but the truth. Or a part of it, anyway. “I went in there with Tucker, and… I know it was nothing, but I still can’t stop thinking… What if I actually did see someone, _something_ , inside?”

“And Tucker?”

“Right. He didn’t see anything, so… I just need to make sure! After tomorrow, I am done”, Simmons assured and he knew the words were being directed at him more than at Grif. There truly needed to be _nothing_ , otherwise there was not point to the way he was acting.

As fucked up as it was, no matter which way you look at it, Simmons now knew he didn't want to be this terrified of something that could be easily dealt with by pointing a gun at it. _Nothing_ took away the possibility of proof and responsibility - any actual risk.

“Just… What the fuck do you think you saw?” Grif gave Simmons a pointed look, leaving no room for him to back away. He sighed.

“It was like a… a person who… they waved at me? Uh, covered in…”

“Blood?”

Simmons simply shrugged in embarrassment and kept his gaze turned away as Grif thought it through.

Coming up with nothing more to ask, Grif simply sighed, too tired to argue further. “You want me to keep an eye on Sarge while you go in there again.”

Simmons nodded slowly, surprised, and glanced at Grif’s deadpan expression. “Pretty much… And to stay on the radio, just on the off-chance I… find something.”

“You do realise it’s not a good idea for me to go down in the holo-room while Sarge’s beyond his usual levels of trigger happy and continuously shooting down holograms – sure, he’s focused on the copies of Lopez for now but it’s easy enough for him to just take me down ‘ _on the off-chance’_ ”, Grif said with a rough set of air quotes with his non-moving finger.

“Right”, Simmons replied, letting out a hollow chuckle. “But you don’t need to go down there, just… Stay in the base and make sure he doesn’t notice that Donut and I –“

“– Wait, stop, _Donut?_ You’re getting _Donut_ involved?” Grif snapped and finally spun around to properly glare at Simmons. “ _What the hell_ is wrong with you?”

And that’s a line Simmons had been hearing a little too often already, immediately feeling his shoulders raise defensively. “I didn’t mean to! He, he found out…! And you have seen how he is, I can’t exactly stop him from coming!”

Grif spared Simmons of an actual comeback, simply nodding which went against everything established of their interactions. The mood that had settled in Valhalla was something unbearable, the effect of Sidewinder left untreated.

“You could stop him if you actually _wanted to_ ”, Grif finally said after a too long of a pause and then frowned, studying Simmons’ pale face as the other did his best to avoid his gaze. “Hell, if you’re desperate enough to take him, you got to be pretty fucking serious about wanting to get this done…”

Simmons didn’t know what to do, simply nodding and keeping his eyes locked on the steadily moving waves in front of them.

“Alright… So, you want me to do exactly what I’ve been doing so far, nothing but wait and see if Sarge’s on the move, which shouldn’t happen considering he’s pretty damn obsessed with finding the ultimate upgrade for Lopez.”

“Right…” Simmons said quietly. “And –“

“– I’ll keep the radio open, _just in case_.” Grif wanted to face palm but that still wasn’t a preferable option. Instead, he turned to look away with his eyes dark.

“It’s not a favour, just so you know; you’ll have to pay for this.”

 

* * *

 

Face reality.

That was the goal Washington worked towards, already having met Epsilon at the Sidewinder, the AI having existed as an entity more than just tortured memories planted inside his head.

After that meeting, the word "reality" began to mean more than it had for the many years until then; "reality" was more than Freelancer, more than Epsilon, more than the Director and everything the man had been willing to destroy and sacrifice for someone long lost.

When Washington finally forced himself to step out of his new room, in a Blue Base belonging to a bunch of sim troopers the like of which he remembered himself killing too many of back in the day, he did it out of desperation to regain some more of his strength. He was free, in a sense, yes – but there was a lot he would need to do to ever truly feel that way.

Limping as the wound on his right tight held him back and tied him to the ground, he forced his way to the level above. There, he stopped for a second to listen to the silence of the base, all of its occupants doing whatever they did now that they had also been left behind by the UNSC.

The Blue Base in Valhalla wasn’t like the Mother of Invention, and it wasn’t anything like a prison either. The door outside was open, not that there actually even was one, and it made Washington snort. It was like a bad metaphor on how he wasn’t expected to stay forever, for once in his life.

Tucker had told him he was free to leave whenever, he wasn’t the sim troopers’ problem unless he tried to kill them again. But Washington had work to do here and, even if he was told the sentiment didn’t work the other way around, he knew well enough that he owed the Reds and Blues more than he could ever repay.

With a sigh, Washington knew exactly where he needed to begin his new mission in life as soon as he had the strength needed to leave the base, having listened to Doc’s ramblings on his other patient at the “Red End” of the outpost for long enough.

Washington knew he needed to face Donut long before allowing the rest of the world do what it will with him. That would be his new beginning, the starting point to a "reality" where he was not under anyone’s control or held back by his past.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter, slow pacing - but something's about to change! …I have way too much fun with the whole "For how long can I make Simmons go back and forth with what he believes in!?" -thing. And, "Bad decisions, what are those?!" Very dumb but I love it, and there actually is another reason for it too, so, nice!


	7. Bring on the proof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Just… Fine, sure. I’ll do that. Send him over.”

Simmons’ night had been restless, just like the previous few he had suffered through ever since their return to Valhalla. But this time the feeling of threat was born from the expectation of something just having to go very, very wrong by the time he and Donut were done with their “mission”.

“Ready to go?” Donut asked cheerfully when he stepped in the kitchen already in full armour and snapping Simmons from his thoughts from where he had been staring at his untouched rations.

“O-oh, yeah”, Simmons nodded belatedly and then shook his head a little as he went to stand up. “I’ll just... get dressed first.”

As Simmons excited to the hallway and Donut ran in the opposite direction, Grif walked up to him with his eyes half closed as he made his way to get breakfast.

It was still early but this was a part of their deal, Grif having to get up around the same time Simmons and Donut were to set out. But what Simmons was surprised about was seeing him up without having to be forcefully dragged out of his bed.

Truthfully, Simmons was just as surprised as Grif who now looked him up and down with a lazily lifted brow. “You’re out here without your armour on? Who are you and what have you done to the nerd?”

“Fatass…” Simmons said almost politely. “Didn’t expect to see you here…”

“Yeah, me neither”, Grif snorted and then looked in the direction Donut had run off in glee to pick up the things he had packed for the day’s adventure, relieved to finally be given something to do after all the bedrest – which obviously hadn’t been nearly enough considering the severity of the injury he had suffered.

“At least Donut looks like he’s doing well! You’re not dragging a dying man out there with you, _good job_.”

“Doc said he was ‘fine’ yesterday…” Simmons said and then shook his head in disdain. Thinking over exactly how the hell he had ended up using their teammate for something like this while he was still recovering from _getting shot_ was something Simmons wasn’t fond, but at least he had waited for Doc’s confirmation that it was ok for Donut to join him for the search.

Not that the medic’s opinion, or the fact that he said it was fine for as long someone was there to “keep an eye out” for Donut, was much of a comfort.

Grif seemed to agree well enough, having given Simmons some pretty dark looks every chance he got after finding out about Donut's participation. Not that he would ever admit it.

“Well, there’s nothing wrong in Valhalla, so…” Grif said as he went to walk in to the kitchen, but Simmons doubted it was in reassurance as the tan man literally left him to face the mess of his own making, well, on his own.

 

* * *

 

“I’ll take the rear!”

“…Right, now I remember why I went with Tucker first”, Simmons mumbled as he followed after Donut. And as simple as that, the not-too-happy pair of the two Reds were off and quickly disappeared in the depths of the cave, even their echoing voices quickly swallowed by the closed off space.

Simmons considered himself lucky for how easy it had been to go on their way without Donut asking for too many explanations. He had told Donut, the one of them eager to search the cave – seriously, why would anyone be eager to do that he never wanted to know – that there was a possibility of someone being in there and the possibility of actual danger as well, which hadn’t been proven wrong yet.

For now, their mission was to get the confirmation of no-life in the caves. And to achieve it in the off chance that there was actual danger here Donut was armed, for whatever his aim was worth. He had also brought some grenades, but that was actually an even bigger risk now that Simmons thought about it – accidentally blowing up the cave’s walls might just be the worst course of action, as well as the most likely thing to happen here…

“Grif?”

_“Yeah?”_

“We are off”, Simmons said quietly and watched as Donut jumped onward, showing no sign of any kind of injury holding him back. “I just want to… say –“

_“Please don’t.”_

Simmons scoffed, hearing the smirk in Grif’s voice and ignoring it as he went on: “The limit is two hours.”

_“Alright?”_

“There’s a chance the radios will stop working when we get down there and, well, just to be safe…”

 _“Sure”,_ Grif said with a yawn. _“But considering what you said of the last time you tried, I doubt you’ll last for longer than half an hour before running out, screaming. Or you will, Donut’s enough of an idiot to not realise even if he came face to face with an actual ghost.”_

“Hey!” Simmons exclaimed but couldn’t help but to smile, surprisingly finding himself able to relax ever so slightly with the offered distraction.

 

* * *

 

On the other end of the outpost, Washington limbed out of the Blue Base and gazed at the open skies. A part of him wished the Blue and Red Bases could have switched places during the time he had been gone, the view of the ocean a more welcoming sight compared to having to stare up at the rocky walls that contained him in this outpost.

The place had more than once been wiped clear of life; the first time Wash had hardly even cared, working on his own investigations with the blue sim troopers and ignoring the bloodshed left behind by Omega and the Meta.

The second time, however…

The yard itself, with its long, green grass, was bad enough, reminding him of the last time he had been here. If he looked close enough, he could practically see the blood still colouring the ground on the spot where Donut had fallen, along with the oil from Lopez breaking apart.

But the other leftover messes around the base itself Tucker had taken up to clean as much as possible with Caboose, although it wasn’t likely he had been all that aware that what he was erasing were the remains of a battle between Washington, Meta and the Reds.

No doubt Tucker was also not in the loop about the lasting signs, the cracks on the structures and pavement, being as big of an issue as they were to the ex-Freelancer as he looked at them now and couldn’t turn his eyes away.

Washington wasn’t ever going to admit the way it made him feel like his lungs were giving out.

Or maybe he would, to Donut at least.

The Private might be deserving of at least that much honesty from him, Washington having to one day admit that he would never be able to fully move on from any of his past actions. He would never forget how he didn’t regret the shot that had caused that red splash on the grass when it first happened, only barely numbed by it now that he actually saw the stain afterwards.

He didn’t exactly know the Private, but based on the way Doc had spoken of him he seemed like the easy-going type. Depending on how deep that assessment ran, with the help of his expression on the other Reds and Blues being as odd of a group as they were, Washington could already imagine how their meeting would go.

Although, Donut was apparently excited to meet Washington which told him the guy didn’t know about their shared history just yet. Either that or he was more than a little off, which wouldn’t come as a surprise considering, _again_ , who his teammates were.

And with that thought and so many more questions making their way to his head, Washington let out an unknowingly true, exasperated sigh long before even meeting the younger man.

Worrisome was the word Washington would have used to describe the circumstances, glancing up at the waterfall just as the figure up on the cliffs slipped out of his view.

Still too tired to focus, Washington made the call to tell about the movement to the Blues when they returned. He didn’t have his helmet on, preventing him from doing so right away – if anything, it most likely had just been Tucker who was nowhere to be seen in the limited space of the simulation outpost.

In Valhalla, the Reds and Blues were as safe as they could be. They would just have to take care of themselves until he was in any shape to start repaying the favour of them saving what little was left of his life.

 

* * *

 

Not long after Washington turned around to limb his way back inside the Blue Base, Grif headed to the kitchen and tried to ask Simmons and Donut if they were seeing anything in the cave. He was bored, alright; not worried or interested or whatever.

It didn’t come as that big of a surprise when there was no answer at first, the similar kind of static he had had issues with for a few days now taking over the feed instead.

The signal in Valhalla had always been rubbish but this was just ridiculous.

“You still alive?”

With a sigh, followed by a faint smile because fuck it, Grif settled down by the table. It was time to get started with his side of a job well done; keeping watch on the elevator down to the holographic chamber and wait for whatever news he’d be getting upon the team’s return.

Through the helmet radio, he barely heard Simmons let out a sigh of his own that seemed to be equal amounts relief and threat.

 _“Do you believe me?”_ Simmons asked uncomfortably after a moment, the two of them still attempting to keep specific details of what they were doing out of any and all conversations had over the radio.

“…About what?”

_“About me having a reason to do this...”_

“You sure you want to hear me answer while you’re out there with no back up?” Grif hummed and could hear Simmons snort, an edge to his voice as he spoke:

_“Just tell me.”_

“You saw a pile of blood waving at you? Sure thing. Best case scenario, Donut will finish it off in the process of helping it out or something; would have worked even better if you had taken Doc with you! What a team up… Nothing to worry about.”

Simmons chuckled at that but this time there was no sign of him relaxing. He finally spoke up after a yet another thoughtful pause, careful with each word: _“I… I have… The eye, my left eye, it has night vision, you know?”_

Grif stalled, frowning as he realised that was yet another piece of information he had completely forgotten about. His expression turned serious. “…You didn’t say that earlier.”

_“I-I didn’t. No way was it real, Grif! No fucking way… I am just… I am tired, I haven’t slept since…”_

“The Sidewinder?” Grif asked, the two words coming out in a tumble as he grit his teeth.

_“…yes?”_

Simmons voice was small and Grif cursed under his breath, staring at the clock on the wall. No way was there anything underground.

But if there was, it must have seen Simmons and Tucker, and this time it must be prepared for their return.

_“And inside the holo-room, when I went there to help Sarge, I saw… something... And that one night on top of the base, a person by the cliff –“_

“– Simmons?”

_“Yeah?”_

“You’re serious about this.”

It was an empty statement followed by a chuckle from Simmons’ end.

_“…I really hope I am wrong so you better not believe me either, Grif.”_

“Right… Sure thing.”

 _“I am just – oh”_ , Simmons paused and just for a second Grif felt his breath catch before the maroon soldier continued: _“S-sorry, got to go. I will call you back.”_

And with that, Simmons ended the call.

With nothing else to do, Grif forcefully went back to his earlier decision of ‘this isn’t my problem, I am not worried, only one and a half hours to go and Simmons better have his messes cleared by then’.

Simmons was being paranoid, both of them running on no energy and too stubborn to admit it.

But, then again…

For some reason, Simmons had _just_ admitted it.

And that couldn’t mean anything good.

 

* * *

 

“Donut!”

It had happened just like any of the other times Donut hurried ahead and behind a corner only to yell at Simmons to hurry up. But this was different because by the time Simmons actually turned the corner neither Donut nor his light were anywhere to be seen.

“Where are _you?!_ ”

Simmons was annoyed, he was scared, god did he want to get the hell out of here. And what little comfort he had gotten from Donut being here with him was swiftly taken away the moment he lost sight of the Private for any longer than those silent seconds that had now more than passed.

“DONUT!”

There was this effect to all of this that Simmons was somewhat aware of by now, his brain having long since turned to mush and unable to rely on any kind of logical thinking. By the time he figured out that hey, maybe using the team’s radio to reach Donut instead of yelling and listening to the lonely echo of his own voice was the better option, it was already a little too late.

The channel was down, his HUD letting him know that there was no connection.

And that was the last push to let Simmons know he needed to run. Donut couldn’t have gone far, he needed to catch the other Red and then drag his ass out of the caves for good – this had been a bad, bad idea. Simmons was not in control.

There was a crack of something giving in, rocks clattering across the floor and rolling to a stop as the sounds echoed in his ears for a little while longer. The cybernetic enchantments let Simmons know of the direction of the sounds, not telling him of any footsteps to go with them.

And so Simmons ran, the rocks not kicked around by his own two feet being the sound he followed without a question because that’s everything he had to go by.

The longer he didn’t think about it, the impossibilities and the discomfort and the fear that there was _nothing_ _simple with what was happening here_ , the better.

With that established, the second spike of logic told Simmons he had to keep trying with the radio – even if unable to reach Donut, the two hour mark was too far off if this was it.

And that’s it for thinking there was nothing wrong, everything torn down in a second. Only one thing mattered:

Simmons had to tell Grif what was happening.

He was gasping for breath as he ran and practically collapsed as he stumbled on the rocks – not for the lack of stamina but out of the suffocating distress that had hit him hard.

“Grif, _fuck_ , _ANSWER ALREADY!_ You got to get someone to, _call someone to_ \- get Tucker, or Washington or, or, _something! Fuck!_ ”

 

* * *

 

When the call finally made it through, Grif didn’t stand up from the table he was sitting by or even think of his rifle and hurrying off to help at the first sign of trouble. Instead, his eyes simply widened for a second before slipping to a well-practiced, bored look to further avoid the possibility that this was at all deserving of a reaction from him.

“What’s up?”

It was a similar line of thinking to what Simmons had desperately been clinging to since the start, but it was time to end it.

_“G-GRI–!”_

Nothing more had made it over the line before the radio cut off.

Grif straightened in his seat, his expression blank.

Things were just about to be taken seriously but not on the accord of Grif, or even Simmons. It was Tucker who called Grif, long before he had even had any time to begin to figure out just what had freaked Simmons out and what to do about it, leaving him to silently listen to Tucker explain his side.

Washington had apparently seen someone and been pretty mad when implied the Reds to have seen the same figure a few times by now, and not done anything about it.

“Hmh… If he’s already mad about that one, he’s not gonna like _this_ either…” Grif said, walking in a circle around the table without even realising that's what he was doing. Nervously, he ran a hand through the mess that was his hair.

_“…what have you done?”_

“Me? Nothing. But Simmons went back out there, _with Donut_. So saying he’s not taking it seriously is… about half way true.”

A long pause followed, Tucker trying to form any words and Grif sighing because, alright, the Blues were in this now which meant he had no other choice than to be the middleman to have everything solved.

_“Let me just… You’re telling me you sent not just Simmons but DONUT in there…?”_

Tucker’s voice was crackling over the line and Grif was staring at the wall blankly. “ _I_ didn’t have anything to do with it but sure, let’s go with that”, Grif finally replied. “Plus, the radios don’t work and Simmons’ last call wasn’t… normal.”

 _“Well fuck”,_ Tucker huffed out and Grif could practically see him rub his face. _“But that’s the thing… Wash wants to look into it, and he’s fucking pissed that you’re apparently avoiding something that could be pretty bad, already mad I didn’t tell him about it right away – seriously, who does he think he is?"_

Tucker paused, letting out a heavy sigh.

_"…but now you’re telling me to tell him you lost contact with two of your men. Fuck that, you can tell him yourself. This isn’t my fucking problem!”_

“Just… Fine, sure. I’ll do that. Send him over.”

Tucker let out a laugh before pausing as he realised Grif had sounded pretty serious about that one as well.

_“To Red Base, or…?”_

“Not to the cave so yeah, send him here. We… I guess this means I need to talk to Sarge so it’s better to deal with both of them at once.”

Grif let his head drop forward and his pacing came to a sudden stop as he belatedly registered his own words. Tucker actually laughed at the idea.

_“Wow… Man, you’re gonna have so much fun with that.”_

“You’re free to join in…”

All Grif got as a reply was some more laughter and the call getting cut.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grif's line "Would have worked even better if you had taken Doc with you! What a team up…" is all that is left of what could have been. Or, I rewrote this entire thing before posting and in the original version Plan D consisted only of Donut and Doc going in the cave. It was fun.


	8. Hold on to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why, I don’t, why you would… Just why?”

Washington was, as expected, both extremely pissed off and distraught over the news of Donut’s disappearance and the Reds, _and Tucker_ , having apparently hidden the fact from him.

“He saw… a person? He went in the caves, _with Tucker_ , and thought he saw something, _a person_ , and went there again with one of your own, one who was already injured… Went in a cave…”

Grif simply shrugged when it appeared like Washington was about to get an aneurysm. He scratched the back of his neck nonchalantly at the Freelancer’s mental struggles only to pull his hand back at the realisation that fuck if his hands were still killing him.

But Washington was the least of Grif’s problems, instead nonstop side-eyeing Sarge who was in full armour and locked to stare down the Freelancer who had been invited to invade their base behind his back. And really now, Sarge had already done his fair share of yelling and pointing a shotgun at the “Blue’s” head, but ever since finding out just what was going on he had fallen dreadfully silent.

Washington seemed to have noticed the same. Out of awareness towards the setting here being a very definite “Red vs. Blue”, he was attempting to not address Sarge or have anything set him off. Instead, Wash forced himself to remain calm and continued to focus on Grif.

Which honestly wasn't _that much_ better for the man in question.

“And you are unable to contact them?”

“Yeah”, Grif replied. “They’ve been gone for almost two hours with no contact… And… Basically; Simmons was pretty sure he saw a disruption in the…” Grif turned to Sarge who had reflexively raised his shotgun to ensure the orange soldier didn’t reveal their secrets, somehow knowing he was talking about the holo-room. “Right. He saw a figure outside, twice I think… With you telling us you also saw someone by the waterfall and that it wasn’t one of the Blues, I guess it could mean something.”

“There is a good enough reason to believe the two in the caves are in trouble, since we have no way to ask them to come out or find out if they’re okay in the first place”, Washington concluded with his brow twitching. “No matter what, I think –“

“– Before you say anything, let’s start with _Sarge_ ”, Grif interrupted and turned to face his commanding officer. With him distracted to come up with a plan, Grif then turned back to Wash to whisper:

“He won’t listen to any of your ideas anyway, so, you can just adapt and modify what he comes up with later.”

Washington didn’t even bother with a shake of his head because of course, even he knew by now that there was a type of logic to everything with these simulation trooper and he better just accept it if he wanted to get anything done.

“It’s obvious the Blues’ plan is to divide us; we aren't going to arrange a search party and empty out Red Base!” Sarge practically spat out his lines all of a sudden, stepping past Grif to threaten Washington with his shotgun again. “I am not falling for your diabolical schemes!”

“…I am not the one who sent them out there, it was your own men’s own doing”, Wash felt the need to point out, standing by Grif’s side as the tan man bit his lip to keep down any comments to make this mess any worse than it already was.

“But! I am not losing two of my better – by default – men and let my record suffer, not like this. We are arranging a rescue operation”, Sarge went on and gestured for Wash to make way as he headed for the meeting board. At his words, Washington noted Grif’s eyes widening in surprise and maybe even relief – if only just in the hopes that those were emotions people around here were capable of feeling for their teammates.

“We are?”

“We will be the ones to do the division – one Red, one Blue!”

Grif blinked as he watched Sarge draw out his idea on the board and then turned to Washington.

“…Just so you know, we’ve done this before”, Grif huffed and Washington simply lifted a brow at him. “Didn’t work out too well.”

“I am the one going in from our side”, Sarge continued and pointed at Washington, “you pick who you’re sending in with me.”

“Wait, one Blue in the caves means two left here with just one Red”, Grif went to say before realising it wasn’t his place to do so, simply filling in Simmons’ _very important_ calculations almost reflexively. He appeared to feel like he wanted to hit himself immediately after but Sarge was quick to interrupt:

“The situation outside the caves will have to be kept even as well; two Reds and two Blues.”

“…Do I even want to know how you worked that one out?” Grif mumbled to himself, but Sarge drowned the words with a scoff.

“Lopez and you will be staying behind, to keep an eye on the remaining Blues.”

“Right… _Lopez_.”

“Alright”, Washington added in the exchange tiredly. “I choose Tucker.”

Grif raised a brow and snickered. “To go in the cave? You sure? I don’t think he’s a fan of the idea.”

“He’s not here, is he? And there’s no other option anyway; I can’t go.” Washington sighed. “Neither am I sending Caboose down there with... Sarge.”

Out of the entire group present, Grif was the only one capable of being at least a little bit gleeful at the concept of getting to stay behind. With that in mind he nodded, hoping Sarge didn’t take that to mean he should change the arrangement just for his misery.

The next stop of whatever was happening here was to retrace the mistake that had been Plan D.

 

* * *

 

The last minute call Sarge and Tucker had made on their way towards the caves was to take Doc with them – although even that was based on Washington’s orders. Sarge had had no complaints, rather having Doc with them if it meant keeping an eye out for the purple menace who still counted as an enemy more than most, with their history.

And apparently Wash had been desperate to get rid of the medic since the beginning of his stay here. It had been entertaining for Tucker to see the Freelancer struggle with Doc’s full attention on him, the two having history that had made their rather one-sided conversations hard to keep up with.

With that settled, the beginning of their exploration into the caves began with something as close to silence as you could get with a team consisting of these specific people. But that didn’t last long as, the moment they made it to the first intersection, Sarge raised a hand to order them to stop.

“Alright men”, Sarge said before pausing, turning to the two following him as he realised he didn’t want to count either Tucker or Doc in that. “Dirtbags. It’s time to split up.”

Tucker couldn’t help but snort, immediately rolling his eyes because the Reds sure were a bunch of geniuses, oh boy was this going to be an adventure. “Why am I here, exactly? Red Team problems written _all over_ –“

Doc interrupted Tucker’s spiel with his own, a hand held on the back of his neck uncomfortably considering the amour was still very much in the way: “Sarge, uh, I don’t think –“

“We need to cover all of our bases down here.” Sarge turned his visor pointedly at Tucker, his voice low almost as if to whisper his intend.

"W-wait, what?"

Tucker cursed under his breath and glanced at Doc who didn’t manage to come up with anything else to say. Almost regretfully, Tucker reminisced over his earlier visit in the caves with the guy’s nerd of a subordinate.

The biggest issue here was that Tucker was more than certain that Sarge was planning to have him shot in the back by the end of the operation; there was no way he was allowing the Blue to walk off on his own with the possibility of quitting the mission on a whim. Unlike earlier with Simmons, it just wasn't an option now.

Washington better be prepared for his anger by the time he got back from here.

 

* * *

 

“They’re off”, Washington said, closing his eyes as he finally accepted, forcefully, that there was no point worrying for as long as there was nothing he could do about it.

Still, there was no changing that he was… _incredibly annoyed_ over the idea of him having to let the three-man group in the caves do this without him even able to stay properly in contact with them over the radio.

“So…”

Washington sighed. He slumped down on his seat to get the pressure off his feet, and in his mind cursing everything that had led him here. On one hand, he probably had this coming – redemption isn’t meant to be easy.

But the headache getting worse by the second wasn’t exactly ideal either.

“I just don’t _understand_ ”, Wash finally spoke, slowly to see how Grif might react. But the orange soldier’s expression didn’t change; if he was feeling regret over whatever role he had played here, he wasn’t showing it. “Why, I don’t, why you would… Just _why_?”

Grif shrugged, glancing at the chair Washington sat on in something akin to jealousy and then leaned against the wall behind him. They were both injured, right, but Wash wasn’t about to accommodate the idiot.

If Washington deserved the pain that was _all of this_ , Grif could handle his own injuries just fine.

“You haven’t exactly been with us for long, have you…” Grif finally said with an almost bored drawl to his voice. “They’ll be fine.”

“I do hope so, for _your_ sake”, Wash snapped, although his voice was tired as well. There was a selfish kind of worry gnawing at him.

If something was to happened to –

“What’s your problem?” Grif asked, tilting his jaw to look at Wash with squinted eyes. “You have no reason to care, it’s my team they’re in there for. I’m the one who gave Simmons the idea in the first place but I didn’t think he would actually go for it.”

Wash felt his brow twitch, unable to control his expression at a level he was once used to. This group was good practice, no denying that as the days began to pass them by.

“I care because _I_ already killed Donut once. And believe me when I say, you don’t want _that_ on your shoulders – and not because of something _this stupid_.”

Grif’s eyes darted to the left for a second, the dead serious and plain angry way Washington had delivered his words making him visibly uncomfortable. Perhaps he was briefly breaking through whatever act he was pulling in his own defence.

Washington found himself attempting to remember just what kind of interactions he’d had with Grif before, but he hadn’t apparently made much of an impact.

“You really think there’s something in the caves?” Grif finally asked, a frown on his face as he looked at Washington as if he was the only sane person around with a view worth anything. For a hundred reasons Wash wasn’t going to explain out loud, here or ever perhaps, the idea made him very, very unhappy – which was, obviously, the understatement of the year.

Did he really deserve the hell that is getting involved with these people?

And with another painfully deep sigh, Wash just had to accept the answer to be a sullen: _yes, yes I do._

But just as he did, he almost fell off his chair at the explosion somewhere close by, the tremor sending the two of them jumping upwards out of reflex and immediately faltering when their injuries didn’t allow for the sudden movements.

Before they had any time to question what was happening, Caboose bounced through the doorway with a grin, although there was also a slight frown on his face as he exclaimed:

“Red Base blew up!”

 

* * *

 

Simmons reached the waterfall by the Blues’ end of the outpost, based on the sounds of the running water at least.

There was also an echoing sound he paused to listen to, coming from somewhere far away along with a belated, slight shaking of the ground. But it was all so quiet that Simmons had no doubt that if it was anyone but him underground, they wouldn't have been able to hear it at all.

Still, it was a curiosity and Simmons turned to his radio again to at least attempt to ask Grif if there was something happening on the outside; but as he did, the channel screeched to life just to have him literally jump a feet in the air in an attempt to rip the piece of tech away from his head.

It didn’t happen, of course, with the clasps in the way – and Simmons’ next course of action was to turn the channel off and wait, having stopped his advance with a frown and sweat dripping from his brow.

A moment later he tried again but the channel was completely dead, not even a hiss there as there usually was. Simmons sighed.

Even if the option of backing out felt like something he would much prefer right about now, he couldn’t. He had to keep going.

The good thing there was that Simmons didn’t actually have to take that many more steps to find exactly what – or who, to be specific this time around – he was looking for.

“S-someone there?”

Simmons squeaked at hearing the silent whisper, barely audible over the sound of the rushing water. He took a deep breath, ensuring himself that yes, he recognised the voice and actually felt a rush of relief over the idea.

Steadying his own voice with effort, Simmons called out as loudly as he could:

“Donut? Are you okay?”

“S-Simmons?”

Something was wrong, the name having been said in a way that didn’t sound right in ways he wasn’t about to list now. Simmons gulped, looking around and wishing he could fix whatever was stopping the helmet from working to call for help. Right now.

“Where are you?”

There was urgency in Simmons’ voice as he spoke as clearly as possible, biting his lip as he took the necessary steps to reach the next wall to take a look behind it. The echo of the cavern, and the sounds of the continuous flow of water, made it impossible to locate anything even with his enhanced hearing.

“What? I… H-here…”

Donut’s voice was so silent. It lacked energy in a way that made Simmons’ throat constrict with each word he heard tangle with one another, falling silent again.

“Y-yes?” Simmons managed to force out past gritted teeth, his own voice shaky. “Keep talking, we need to get out of here and fast.”

“W-what? What do you, I can’t…”

Simmons reached the next wall over, touching the solid surface and turning to the left side corridor he approximated Donut’s voice to be coming from. He had to be close.

“Um, uh, is your hearing aid working?” Simmons asked just to have something to say, chuckling uselessly at how uncomfortable he felt. All he wanted was to run away but he was the one who had brought Donut in here and he was clearly in trouble; he wasn’t meant to sound so lost and scared –

“Yes. Yes, I think so? That makes sense, heh…”

Either he had hit his head or something else was wrong, Simmons finally realising that the way Donut spoke reminded him of how he had been right after getting shot and during his recovery.

Blood loss, hallucinations, death…

“What happened?” Simmons asked next, steadying his voice in determination as he put more speed in his steps. “We… I-I am sorry I brought you down here, okay? But we are getting out! I just need to… find you first.”

“…That’s alright. I-it was fun.”

 

* * *

 

To Tucker, being included in the rescue operation of two Reds while the rest of his team hung out back at the base was less than ideal for obvious reasons. Always would be.

But being in the caves he hadn’t wanted to enter again after the brief, long denied, scare was yet another downgrade from the usual, especially with the way the radio had screeched a little while earlier to let him know he really was on his own now.

This was all just beyond perfect. Who the hell even gave Washington the authority to boss him around – and, more than that, exactly why Tucker hadn’t taken the time to question that before actually coming down here and being forcefully separated from the Red Sergeant and the medic-wannabe?

This wasn’t Tucker’s problem in any way, _none of this_ – and that much was obvious especially with the Reds immediately telling him to fuck off. But here he was and maybe, just maybe, finding both Simmons and Donut as fast as possible would be a good thing.

And honestly, Tucker did feel like he owed the pink soldier after the whole desert thing and sending people to finally help him out, no matter how disappointing of a rescue attempt that had turned out to be. But hey, he had made it out alive so there was something to celebrate right there.

Who the hell believed in ghosts anyway, _not him_ , no way. The sooner Tucker solved the mystery, the sooner he could get the hell out and continue on with his relaxing lifestyle.

Something flashed in the corner of his eye.

With the light of the sword, Tucker walked up to the wall to study the hue of metal. The plate had been badly covered with dark paint, a screw tightening it onto the rocks.

“And what are you hiding…” Tucker hummed, lifting the sword closer to the panel which had no place underground and looking like it had been put together in a hurry.

But soon after he reached to press it with his palm, the panel was wiped from his mind when he heard the scream.

Tucker spun around with the sword raised and his body stiff.

“That’s… W-wait, was that…!?”

The sounds of something blowing up, crashing and beginning to completely fall apart, shook the entire cavern. The following echoes travelled through the long tunnels, reaching Tucker who could do nothing but let out a half-hearted curse in shock before he began to run for it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The one-day regret”, my angst war entry, borrowed a lot of assets from this fic (imaginary Grif/Simmons, radio tower disruptions, cave searches and explosions, the following rescue) in a way that I’m happy to call more successful! When I wrote it, I had no intention to ever finish this one, instead starting over with something new. But in this fic, the setup exists for a very specific result; a dream years in the making.


	9. The ghostly trap...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He was… right there.”

Not long before Simmons had heard Donut’s voice, the three left behind – or four, counting Lopez who was efficiently blocked below ground by debris – were about to face their own shock of the day, head on. With Caboose’s unsteady support that Washington hadn’t even attempted to decline in his hurry, they made it outside the Blue Base only to see the smoke rise from the other end of the outpost.

Red Base truly had been blown apart by something, the smoke trailing upwards in a solid, thick pillar.

“W-what the hell”, Grif managed to get out, taking a step forward and then stalling again as his hands gestured uselessly at the destruction he had no words to describe. “Just… what…?”

Washington grit his teeth and closed his eyes. This wasn’t a coincidence; with everyone else from the two teams stuck beneath ground, the timing was too perfect.

After a moment, with the three of them remaining quiet in an uncharacteristic moment, Washington opened his eyes to begin to study the smoke, trying to see through it from the distance to locate any movement around the area and to locate what the actual target of the attack had been.

It didn’t come as that big of a surprise when he saw the final working com-tower on the ground, completely destroyed.

“Long-term communications are down for good, we can’t contact Command. Not that we would have anyway, but… Now we can’t”, Washington said with a snap to his words. “And, to answer your question”, he went on to say and turned to Grif whose expression had gone completely blank as he followed the trail of smoke up to the usually always clear skies;

“Yes. I do think there is someone here with us.”

 

* * *

 

Hurrying towards the direction of the explosion, which had sounded more like a cave-in now that he thought about it, Tucker was left with his own mind screaming a hundred and one questions about what he should be expecting to find.

There was dust and rocks everywhere, the dark of the cavern even dimmer now and his sword’s light not doing much to pierce through the suffocating space attempting to settle down once more. Whatever the initial explosion had been, the tremors had caused a lot of the underground hallways to collapse in on themselves.

And Tucker had more than recognised the voice, too; the scream very clearly having belonged to Simmons who he was here to look for to begin with.

Running through the halls and almost stumbling on the rocks on his way, Tucker finally made it to the wall that prevented him from going forward. Behind the rocks blocking his way, there had to be the epicentre of whatever had caused this.

“…Simmons? Can you hear me?”

Tucker’s voice was more silent than he would have liked for it to be, and he was so utterly confused and lost on what he was supposed to either do or feel right now.

What if he didn’t find the–, no, worse, what if he _did find them_ , just not the way he wanted to. _What would he do then?_

Turning around to go find a way on the other side of the collapsed tunnels, Tucker’s sword lit up a crevice in the hall and from the corner of his eye he saw a splash of red.

Tucker stalled, for a second feeling his breath catch and his stomach turn as he gulped. Slowly, he turned his visor to the crack on the wall that was efficiently hidden behind a loose boulder.

There was blood, was what Tucker noted first as he lifted the sword to light the figure covering there; wearing a very familiar, maroon armour.

Simmons was on the ground with his arms covering his head, his left leg sparking through the armour that had been partially crushed by some of the ceiling having fallen down on top of him. He didn’t move or react at all to Tucker’s appearance as the teal armoured man crouched down next to him.

“H-hey? What happened here?”

Tucker felt out of his element, turning to look at the cave-in and then back at Simmons, slowly reaching out to shake him to get some reaction out of the cyborg. It was hard to tell if he was even alive if he didn’t speak up soon.

Taking off their helmets certainly wasn’t an option with the cave continuing to crumble and the dust engulfing every inch of the air around them.

At Tucker touching his shoulder, Simmons flinched and turned his head sharply to point his visor at him, making Tucker pull back immediately as if the other was going to bite his hand off.

But even then, Simmons didn’t say anything. He didn’t make a sound.

“…What happened?” Tucker asked again, biting back any other remarks he could have made. Something was wrong here, at least that much was obvious.

Simmons seemed to gulp, his visor turning an inch to the right and at the rocks blocking their way.

“D-Donut”, he finally forced out, his voice shaky. “I… I saw him.”

“What?”

“He’s…” Simmons continued, turning a little more to direction of the rocks and peeking past the boulder. “He was… right there.”

Tucker turned to the cave-in as well, the dust still dancing around to further disturb the view. “I don’t… It’s not safe in here.”

Way to state the obvious but there was no denying that Tucker had no idea what else to do next but run, being left in charge of the Red with no words of comfort to offer him. But it wasn’t as easy as that.

With Tucker having nothing to say, Simmons was quick to fill in the silence as if a dam had broken; rambling on and on as the increasing wave of panic too over:

“H-he’s dead, Tucker! He has to be, I am sure I s-saw him, right before the ceiling blew up and the rubble came down, and he sounded, Tucker, _he wasn’t okay to begin with, there’s no way_ _–!_ “

 

* * *

 

“I’m still unclear on this… Is… Lopez, right? Is he actually somewhere out here?” Washington asked when everything in the outpost had fallen completely silent again.

“Yeah, he’s… you didn’t… kill him. He’s a head, underground”, Grif replied with a halt to his words, still staring at the smoke and barely hearing what Washington was going on about. “Sarge still counts him, which worked in our advantage… So…”

“Small blessings”, Washington huffed and bit his lip. “But it does make this a little more complicated as well…”

“How?” Grif asked with a frown, and it was a good question. Their situation was relatively simple, but he didn’t see exactly how Lopez could make it any better either _– or worse_ , on that matter.

“A robot could be useful and even one more person to help us out could very well make all the difference, for as long as we have no one to call in. It’s just the three of us out here, since I can’t contact the others”, Washington said lowly, his brain working out a solution almost desperately. “The final radio tower was damaged when… _after_ Tex’s ship crashed here. It, along with the caves themselves, is making the connection fail.”

“…Meaning?” Grif asked carefully.

“We need to check the perimeter.”

“You want us to go there”, Grif stated, pointing his rifle at the Red Base with his eyes growing wide. “What the hell, what the hell…”

“Whoever did this might still be nearby – if we can trap them before they slip away and back to the caves with the others still in there, it might save us a lot of trouble later on”, Washington continued without paying any mind to Grif’s sullen mood now that his initial shock was beginning to sweep out of him.

“Yeah, _alright_ , but we’re in no shape to run out there!” Grif snarled, gesturing at Wash’s unsteady footing with the rifle and not giving a damn about how he really wasn’t sticking to any protocols by doing that – trigger discipline, people. “Or rather; _only Caboose is!_ ”

The Blue in question looked between Grif and Washington curiously, Wash having already told him to put his helmet back on and get ready for anything. He seemed to have misunderstood the message and looked excited for whatever was happening here.

“Are we going now?”

“No, not yet”, Washington replied to Caboose’s question and turned back to Grif. “Do you have a Warthog? Any vehicles?”

“We’re at the Blue Base, don’t ask me! And if you honestly think the UNSC took the time to restock this shithole when they dropped us off…”

“Point taken”, Washington said with a sigh and shook his head, turning to Caboose with an unreadable expression. “…Now we are going.”

Caboose cheered and, without being asked, took a step forward to let Washington use him as support just like he had earlier. Grif seemed a little impressed for the seriousness the younger Private took to this new duty of his.

Meanwhile, Washington was simply glad to not having to ask for the assistance. And at least like this, for as long as Caboose stuck to his side, he couldn’t exactly lose sight of the man either.

Witnessing Grif’s continued pretence regarding the Reds, Washington had come to a realisation; Caboose was his teammate now. Under the circumstances they were in right now, he decided it was a very good thing to not let the Blue wander off even for a second.

 

* * *

 

“Alright, alright…” Grif mumbled as he kicked the scrap left from the flaming tower. “Wasn’t a powerful explosion, huh…”

“It wasn’t”, Washington agreed and his helmet was turning from left to right as he kept an eye on their surroundings and any sign of movement. “They knew what they wanted to do, and nothing more than that…”

“But why the fuck?!” Grif spat out, taking a heavy breath at noticing himself finally beginning to lose his cool. “Who did they think were _going to call_? The UNSC? I mean, wouldn’t that mean –?”

“– that we are not dealing with them, here… Yes”, Washington said with a sigh. “And that’s not… great. For us.”

“…I agree, I guess? If it’s not them… Well, we didn’t even consider anyone else having an interest in us… Who else is there? If this isn’t them or any of your Freelancer bullshit”, Grif continued through grit teeth, “there’s nothing else I can think of!”

Washington looked his way for a brief moment before he hurried towards the entrance of the base with wobbly footing and Caboose right by his heels.

“Your view of the world is very limited, then…”

Washington made it inside and went to glance through the space for any sign of it having been disturbed beyond the explosives on the outside. Caboose helped by comparing the differences between the Blue Base to the Reds, mostly just getting confused by things being the wrong colour and to the wrong side of the area.

“Grif… Do you see anything missing?” Washington asked after a while when there was nothing to be found. With a sight, he leaned against a wall and closed his eyes.

This was not ideal at all, there was so much wro–

“Grif?”

At not getting an answer, Washington let out a huff and opened his eyes again only to look at Caboose. The Blue simply tilted his head and gestured towards the way they had come from.

“He didn’t come, Reds don’t do that with us!”

“Right…”

For a second Washington felt nothing but annoyed at the orange soldier dragging his feet when he had already admitted this was more about him than either Wash or Caboose, but then there was a moment of silence that made him think.

“Grif…” Washington said with his words dripping with anger. “Don’t you _fucking dare do this to –_ ”

 


	10. ...and the reality-check that followed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “…I might have found them both, actually."

Tucker managed to find them a way back, dragging Simmons out of the caves while the cyborg rambled on and on about Donut. His left leg was sparkling and malfunctioning with each step taken and Tucker cringed at the sight.

Meanwhile Sarge, who had been on his own until then, had also heard the cave-in and immediately come to the conclusion that he had been betrayed by the Blues – as he had expected to happen from the start, of course.

The three of them made it out around the same time, Tucker just in time to see Sarge’s back disappear from view as the Red ran off.

Before Tucker could even consider if it was worth it to call after the other, his attention was stolen by Caboose waving at them from where he stood next to Washington to the right of the cave’s entrance. Caboose made the choice for Tucker and called after Sarge as he ran by, but, to Tucker's surprise, got no reaction from the Sergeant.

Washington, who had sat by the entrance, forced himself to his feet and turned to face Tucker and Simmons. Behind him, Caboose seemed to automatically reach out to help him but for some reason neither said anything.

Tucker frowned behind his visor and, in turn, helped Simmons lean against a wall. With that done, he then let out a heavy breath and wiped off some of the grime stuck to him. Washington appeared to wait for him to turn to him before the Freelancer opened his mouth, as disconcerting as that was.

“You found him…” Washington began. He had his helmet on, but it left no question on the disappointed scowl he had to be wearing just about then, at least based on the way he glanced back at the entrance.

Donut was nowhere to be seen.

Tucker glanced at Simmons who had only fallen silent when they had seen the light of day at the cave's entrance. “…I might have found them both, actually. Simmons says Donut’s… Well. Dead. There was a cave-in.”

No reason to circle around that one, and the way Wash stilled at the news was very obvious as well. Before the Freelancer could find a way to put any of this into words, though, Tucker asked: “What’s up with the smoke?”

He nodded toward the direction of the Red Base and then walked to the edge of the cliff to take a closer look. Simmons’ visor followed Tucker's movement but otherwise he didn't show any sign of life. And again, before Wash could form any words, Tucker let out a hiss.

“ _Fuck_.”

“Yeah”, Washington forced out, briefly shaking his head and glancing Simmons’ way almost apologetically. “We lost Red Base, soon after Sarge and Tucker went in for you. Biggest issue there is that we are no longer able to make any long-distance calls… And even the local ones will suffer from further disruptions without a working tower in the area.”

Simmons didn’t turn to look at him at being addressed, fully focused on Tucker’s back.

“…Someone cut us off, deliberately”, Tucker mumbled and turned to angrily gesture at the caves. “There’s someone there!”

“That’s not all”, Washington added before anyone could start another useless argument about that one. He stood up straight and took a step toward Tucker before pausing and turning back to Simmons instead.

“Grif’s gone.”

The statement was followed by silence, with even Tucker lowering his arms to stare at Washington in a dumbfound moment of surprise. Simmons finally turned his visor to the Freelancer and opened his mouth:

“W-what….”

“We need to –“, Washington began, but didn't get far.

“How the hell _did you lose him_?! We’re the ones who were down in the fucking caves!” Tucker snapped at Washington and took a step toward him, interrupting both of the two men with his hands raised up in the air as if to pull at his hair. “Come on, Wash!”

Washington sighed and grit his teeth, the motion one he had gotten annoyingly familiar with already and just knew he would be repeating for the days, weeks, years to come. He turned to face Tucker.

“Red Base was destroyed, our radios are pretty much down for good, and both Grif and I are still very clearly injured. When everything went wrong, what did you expect me to do about it?”

Simmons’ seemed to stare straight past Washington and ignored his words as he stumbled forward, to Tucker side, just to stare at the Red Base that had, yes, very much gone up in smoke. “B-but… If Donut’s _dead –_ “

Washington's jaw clenched even tighter. “ _We don’t know that_ , whatever you saw is –“

“Are you denying that too, now? No, stop – we have nothing to work with otherwise, we can’t just _erase everything_ ”, Tucker growled and began to pace on his spot. “Simmons saw Donut get injured at least, fine; then someone came here and blew up Red Base. Ok. Facts. And you went to check it out, injured or not because you think you’re fucking superhuman or something, and when you did –“

“– you lost Grif”, Simmons finished with a lack of emotion, still staring at the smoking remains. “There really is someone here…”

“No one’s debating that anymore”, Washington stated and crossed his arms like a child as he ignored the rest of Tucker's spiel. He noticed the way Simmons’ shoulders slumped down and then immediately raised again as if the Freelancer's words had taken a weight off of them, only to replace it with something _so much worse_.

Tucker took advantage of the silence to point at Red Base where Sarge was still running towards his property, screaming about having known this would happen and cursing Grif for failing them again. Tucker huffed. “You better be prepared, the war has might have just begun.”

“We don’t have time for _this_ ”, Washington crumbled, shaking his head as he began to limp towards the Red Base himself. He had come up to the cliff in hopes of finding Grif but without him in sight, he had had nothing else to do but wait and see if the others had caught a glimpse of anything in the caves.

But, apparently, they had nothing.

 

* * *

 

The leftover Reds and Blues gathered up by the Red Base, all of their focus in holding back Sarge's anger while Washington attempted to talk some sense into them. They needed a plan of action, to work as a team, or something like that.

Something seemed to snap, soon after, with Simmons finally letting out a loud curse and turning Washington's way. He then began to ramble on and on, proving him wrong about what he had already established:

Turned out they had a lot more information to work with than Washington could have ever expected.

Simmons, tired and lost and confused, seemed unable to shut his mouth now that he no longer had any reason to keep anything to himself. He talked about their first night back at Valhalla, when he had in his tired state blamed it all on Grif only to much later realise that the whispered questions must have belonged to someone else entirely.

He had done his best to deny the words he had heard, blamed them on the mess that was his cybernetic mind – but then it had appeared as if Donut had heard the same on his sickbed, answering to the silent _“Why?”_ without a second’s pause in between.

And then Simmons had seen the figure up on the cliffs, with Grif having missed it by chance. And then he, and Tucker, had seen the figure in the caves. And then, on top of all that, he had seen the holograph wave at him - Sarge interrupting that part of the story before Simmons could explain in further detail.

“Y-you…” Wash began after Simmons’ outburst, utterly flabbergasted because _no_. “Why didn’t you tell me, us, _anyone_ _–!_ “

Simmons didn’t have anything to say, only looking incredibly embarrassed which was, just like with Grif, not enough of a reaction in Washington’s eyes. But Tucker interrupted the Freelancer’s rant before it could even get started:

“There’s something down here with us, has been since the start. And it’s attempting to fuck with us.”

Sarge, finally listening, harrumphed. His anger was very much visible still with the shotgun trained at Tucker's back. “What are you suggesting, _Blue_.”

“Nothing much, actually”, Tucker said with a raised eyebrow, trying his best to not mind the weapon pointed his way when he knew its presence was the best way to keep the peace between the two teams, for now. “ _It_ blew up Red Base and took two of _your_ men, don’t think it’s my place to say anything more. “

The Blue had a small grin on his face as he turned to Washington, and it went well along with the statement he then added in:

“But I have a feeling _you_ want to try.”

Washington took this as his cue to let out yet another, painfully heavy, sigh.

“Yes. We are going to get them back and, _to do that_ , we are not going to hold anything back from this point onward”, Washington said, looking at each of the men with a glare.

“I dropped your breakfast! Twice!”

Washington closed his eyes, counted to five after the thankfully mild exclamation, and then looked at the Blue.

“That’s okay, Caboose. No more of that is… _necessary_.”

“Going back on your word already, huh”, Tucker said and crossed his arms, turning to Caboose with a smirk. “Any other confessions to get out, you better do it while Wash’s still in the mood.”

“Stop that.”

 

* * *

 

"I really can't… believe what's happening here."

"You're not the only one", Tucker snorted and threw a screwdriver Simmons' way. "But tomorrow we'll end this."

Simmons couldn't help but to chuckle at that, no matter how empty the sound he let out was. "Wouldn't be the first time I have thought that in the past few days…"

Tucker nodded.

"Sure, and that's exactly why you're no longer allowed to work on this on your own. Washington would kill you if we don't figure this out and fast."

Tucker wiped tiredly at his eyes and Simmons' gaze darted back at his own, still sparkling leg. He was trying to patch it together to the best of his ability to be able to participate in their search and rescue operation the next morning. There was no way to fix his limp in this time, but getting rid of the sparks was better than nothing.

One thing was for certain; Simmons wasn't going to stay behind. Especially not when Washington, their most reliable member by default - _which was pretty bad considering who he was and what he had done_ \- was already held back by his injury.

"I can't believe even Grif is…" Simmons mumbled, hating the implication of how he had just ruined his entire team just because of his unwillingness to believe there was an issue in the outpost or with his head.

"We'll find out what happened to your boyfriend", Tucker complained and Simmons fumbled with the screwdriver badly enough to get a spark almost fly at his one good eye, "but we have bigger problems to deal with,  _now!_ "

"Bigger… problems?" Simmons asked, frowning up at Tucker who sat on the bed and tilted a brow at Simmons, on the floor of his room.

"I need my space, alright?" Tucker replied, and sounded way too serious for Simmons' liking. The Red glanced around the space and under the bed he saw the bottle of whiskey he had given Tucker not that long ago at all.

"Believe me… I don't want to be out of here more than you want me gone **…** " Simmons said and tried his best to not think about what this room might have seen in the short time Tucker had occupied it, after their arrival to Valhalla.

Without Red Base, they had all been forced to share the other end of the outpost. The only exception to this was Sarge who had been adamant to start digging through his belongings.

Although Washington hadn't been too happy about that one, the Freelancer seemed to have decided that losing more Reds wasn't that big of a problem when comparing it to the mess that dealing with Sarge had proven to be.

 


	11. That famous pile of blood

The three-man rescue operation had set out early in the morning. Even with it taking a bit longer to get as far in the caves as it had the previous day, there was no denying that the scene they faced in the depths of Valhalla was a familiar one.

“You take the left!” Sarge ordered and turned to Simmons. There was a second of him just staring at the Private, as if giving him a very specific order with his covered gaze, before Sarge turned to the hallway leading to their right without another word.

“W-wait, we are _not_ splitting u–!”

Simmons didn’t have time to finish his sentence before Sarge had already stormed off, leaving him and Tucker stand in the cross-section.

“Honestly?” Tucker said after a pause and an awkward face-palm he had ran down his visor, turning to the left as they had been told to do. “Good riddance.”

“But…”

"Yesterday he walked off at the first stop – this is a fucking improvement if you ask me! And seriously? I’m pretty sure he just told you to kill me or something”, Tucker snorted, glancing back at Simmons with a shrug.

“Makes sense, I guess…” Simmons replied, haltingly, and thought back on the look Sarge had seemed to give him. With a sigh, he followed after the Blue with only a quick glance over his shoulder and the way his so-called commanding officer had gone. “But I really don’t want to be the last man standing in Red team… Seeing the way this is going, it’s not exactly an honour.”

Tucker laughed at that, but the sharp sound was not cheerful in the least. Still, Simmons found himself thankful for the attempt. There was so much already wrong with the situation that a little bit more of pretending couldn’t hurt.

Still, Simmons more than knew, the full responsibility was his for the taking.

 

* * *

 

Tucker and Simmons headed onward in silence, which was a very different approach compared to Sarge who was already rummaging through something at the other end of the hallway. He was loud enough for his mumbling and the following crashes to echo all the way to the other two soldiers’ ears.

Simmons simply sighed, but it was Tucker who suddenly stopped in his steps and slowly turned the way Sarge had disappeared to.

“Wait… That almost sounds like…”

Simmons nodded, belatedly pausing in his steps as his eyes widened. “Metal and… He actually _found_ something!? Should we…?”

Tucker turned to Simmons and then back the way they had come from, only to suddenly snap his head straight back at the cyborg and pointing past him. “Look!”

Simmons squinted the way Tucker was pointing at and the Blue turned off his sword to better see what was ahead of them.

In the darkness that fell, the soft illumination at the end of the corridor was undeniable.

“Light…” Simmons mumbled and took a steadying breath. “No denying that one either…”

Tucker nodded and his voice was serious as he said: “I think… We might have just found the hideout of whoever’s been fucking with us… And it didn't even take long. _Fuck_.”

“Let’s go.” Simmons stepped forward with his rifle raised and Tucker immediately re-equipped his sword to join him.

They hurried at the end of the tunnel and turned the corner as carefully as they could, glancing around the not too brightly lit space deep below ground. The light source they had followed consisted of a few flashlights having been scattered around the small opening that on its own appeared natural in making.

But what the space was filled with could only be described as a complete mess.

“Someone’s been living here…” Tucker said as he stepped further in the small room and studied the strands of fabric, pieces of machinery and cans of old rations strewn all over the place. “They’ve been mapping the outpost too; look.”

Stoically, Simmons followed Tucker inside. There was a dizzying wave of fear already washing over him at the thought that someone really did live here because _fuck; they got both Donut and Grif somewhere down here._

“All the caves are drawn on this thing… Marking down how to get where, which route is the fastest, how many people there are in the Red and Blue Bases… Huh. It really wasn't a long way here from the entrance, but there's no logic to the corridors…”

“W-wait”, Simmons said, snapping out of his thoughts to look at the scribbles by the map and then glancing around the space again. “There’s nothing… _sophisticated_ about this, it’s all -!”

“Not the UNSC, then”, Tucker replied with a tight edge to his voice. “And look at this; the placements of the… _traps?_ have been marked down as well! _What?_  Have you seen any?" Tucker asked and then turned his eyes on the next lines of text, scribbled in with a red pencil. "Huh… The dates we came down here on, what traps have been set off, where they saw us – _fuck_ , you were right, _we saw someone when we came down here_ _–!?_ “

“Anything about Donut? Grif?” Simmons urgently asked, now knowing for a fact that the "blood-covered person" he had seen had been real and shaking off the memory of what he had seen. He leaned forward to better scan through the mess of papers and drawings.

The designs were as mad as Sarge's – maybe he should come back in and see them, Simmons found himself thinking, to tell them what the enemy was after.

“ _This!_ ” Tucker suddenly exclaimed and separated a note from the rest, pulling it closer to them and reading through it with difficulty: “ _’Pink_ _and Red, caught in…_   _Blue_ , _pressure plate… set off…’_ They’re talking about the… cave-in _…_?”

“S-so… the cave-in was caused by some trap? Wait… Did _I set it_ _o–!_ ”

“Stop it”, Tucker interrupted almost angrily, his jaw clenching as his eyes flickered at the words and what they implied. “I’ll… go through these, you look at the rest.”

“Shouldn’t it be the other –?” Simmons went to ask but Tucker simply directed his blank visor at Simmons to silence him, looking at him for a second longer than necessary to make his point. Simmons had enough fuckups for the week, so maybe it really was better to leave it at that. “Alright…”

Simmons backed away and turned to face the relatively empty room for more clues on who its occupant was. He walked through the space, slowly looking through everything.

He crouched down to the boxes of MREs: some of them were old but most were not, the date marked on them making it clear that they belonged to the same batch as the Reds’ new supplies from when UNSC had brought them back to Valhalla.

“They must have taken them before blowing up the Base, nothing was missing before…” And that Simmons was certain of, with his sleepless nights having been the ideal time to double-check their inventories a hundred times over.

With a nervous pull to his lip, Simmons stood up. The supplies here had been collected at the same time Grif had gone missing, right from the destroyed Red Base.

Simmons glanced at Tucker who was silently cursing as he leafed through the papers on the desk. With a heavy breath, Simmons turned to an outcropping on the wall and went to peek past it.

Nothing here gave them any answer, with Simmons' steps coming to a stop and his heart jumping to his throat as he saw what had been hidden in the small corner.

“O-oh…” Simmons managed to force out and Tucker turned around only to see the maroon armoured soldier backing away with his shoulders high. “That’s not _…_ good at all…”

“What is it?” Tucker hurried to look past him, seeing a mechanical structure with a small light flashing on its side. He titled his head and glanced back at Simmons blank visor.

“It’s…” Simmons mumbled, his voice almost too quiet to be heard, “an… emp… I think.”

Tucker immediately let out a sound of wonder, whistling as he took a closer look at the mangled device with wires sticking out from every side. “Now that _would be bad_ –“

For Simmons, an emp really was the last thing he wanted to face in a cave that left them with no –

“W-what are you doing here?”

Both Simmons and Tucker’s stances went rigid at hearing the squeaky voice of someone other than Sarge, the two of them lifting their heads to stare at the wall above the machine. Simmons gulped as he realised just how familiar he was with the voice coming from behind them.

“T-Tucker?”

“Yeah…?”

“That’s the –“

Tucker spun around with his sword drawn.

“Oh fuck, no _you don’t!_ ”

By the time Simmons managed to turn around, Tucker had already chased after whoever had stood by the entrance, two sets of heavy footsteps and yelling echoing from the corridor. He had no idea how he was supposed to react.

Almost, he had almost come face to face with whoever had been behind this entire mess that had left him –

“FUCK!”

There was no time to stall, he had to tell Sarge to go after Tucker and the target to make sure they finally caught the guy – Simmons wasn’t much of a use in that, the limp of his damaged his leg only getting worse if mixed with speed.

Simmons ripped the map off the wall and picked up as many of the papers as he could before he headed for Sarge.

 

* * *

 

_“WASH!”_

The call made through with a crack and Washington was quick to get on his feet at hearing Tucker’s yell.

“What’s the –?“

 _“A guy! There’s a guy!”_ Tucker yelled through his laboured breaths. _“Coming your way, I - FUCK! Block him or SOMETHING!”_

Sharply, Washington turned to Caboose who was tilting his head with a wide smile as he waited for his orders.

“Time to put the helmet back on, we are needed inside.”

“Okay!”

Caboose, with Wash’s help, did exactly that and then helped the Freelancer onward with his still heavy limp – it was really beginning to piss him off how his rest had been cut short by this bullshit, preventing him from truly recovering.

But it wasn't enough to stop him.

Stepping in the dark of the cave, the last two soldiers went to participate in the final hunt with their guns held ready. Or Wash had his rifle ready, careful to prevent Caboose from doing the same while the Blue was so close by his side.

That was the one bullet to his back Washington wanted to avoid.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t Simmons who got to Sarge first.

The Red Sergeant had heard his calls from a good distance away, almost passing right by Simmons on his hurry to get going to the other direction. Simmons barely had enough time to explain to him that Tucker actually was chasing down the person who had been living down here.

Sarge seemed annoyed that Simmons had been in no shape to take this hunt from Tucker, now picking up speed to get to them before a _Blue_ could solve the situation completely.

It was Sarge and his team the enemy had wronged.

As Sarge went to run off, Simmons gave him one of the maps he had found in hopes that at least the traps marked on it would help Sarge not get killed on the way. Although it was unlikely he would even stop to look at it, the distraction was enough to make Sarge think for a second and point back the way he had come from.

“If you want to get the waste of space, keep going.”

With Sarge gone, it took a second longer for the realisation to finally hit Simmons. He spun his head the other way and limped onward.

“Grif?!”

Sarge hadn’t been lying, and it didn’t take long for Simmons to find the orange soldier.

Wearing his undersuit, Grif sat on the ground next to a lamp that barely lit the surrounding space that, based on the rags and standard issue pillow by him, seemed function as a bedroom.

“You’re –!”

“– very much alive”, Grif quickly replied, his eyes darting left and right in the relative darkness of the space. “Took you long enough.”

“Sarge just left you here?” Simmons asked and crouched down by the other’s side, looking him over and seeing no visible – _new_ – injuries. It took off some of the pressure that had been building up in his chest.

Grif actually laughed at him then, taking the dumb question as one that allowed him to start talking like nothing had happened. “Of course he did! He heard you calling the moment he stepped in here and ran off without a look my way”, Grif replied, offering Simmons a hand and wordlessly asking to be helped stand. “We need to go.”

“Right!” Simmons took a hold of his arm and pulled Grif up with him, still studying the way the other favoured his right leg. “You are –“

“– not too badly injured, just sprained a leg on the way down here and can’t get up on my own... It’s dark as fuck!”

“And you must have taken to it badly”, Simmons snorted, the relief he felt at seeing the other Red alive and well strong although there was a nagging feeling as well:

Donut wasn’t anywhere to be seen and the space they were in was hardly a prison. There wasn’t even a door, nothing but his minor injury having kept Grif waiting for them here.

“Did you see him?” Grif asked, ignoring everything else while Simmons looked around only to realise that even Grif's armour had been left right by his side. With a frown, he helped Grif sit down by it – they were not leaving without him wearing it, no way.

“Yes”, Simmons replied, helping Grif with the pieces in a hurry. “Tucker’s chasing him down, there’s no way we’re letting him slip away –“

“Fuck!” Simmons backed away at Grif's outburst and looked at him in confusion and worry. The shadows across Grif's face darkened. “He better fucking _not_ shoot the guy!”

“W-what –?”

“If the radio works, if they’re close enough, whatever, you tell them to not kill him, _right now!_ ” Grif continued with his words dropping low. His expression was serious as he took a hold of Simmons’ shoulder and shook him just to make his point clear.

Simmons frowned. He had never seen Grif quite like this, as if he really cared about –

“Got it, Simmons? He’s not whatever you think he is, _none of_ _this is what you fucking think it is!_ ”

Simmons could do nothing but stare.

 

* * *

 

“Tucker?”

 _“I-I think I, I know this place”_ , Tucker managed to say through his heavy breathing, _“almost by the, the entrance!”_

“Good. We are ready”, Washington confirmed, glancing at Caboose who was excitedly swaying on his toes at the opposite end of the tiny hallway they were waiting in. “Keep telling me the estimates and –“

Just then the two of them heard the echoing footsteps heading straight for their hideout. Washington lifted his hand and hoped Caboose was still following his very simple plan of attack.

With the two of them in play, the enemy would have no chance of escaping.

 


	12. Red team problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do you care…”

“Stay away from me!” the man screeched, scrambling to make distance between himself and Washington. The Freelancer had no strength to get involved in a wrestling match but it didn't help the man much in his struggles.

As Washington backed away from the wildly kicking feet, he was thankful Caboose was plenty enough to hold the red armoured soldier in his place, the voice of whom was finally beginning to register in Washington’s brain.

There was something familiar to it, but he didn’t exactly know this man either. Simply based on the armour he could come to one conclusion at least.

There was no way, but still -

“Are you a survivor?” Washington asked, unsure what to think as he took a step closer again. The man didn't appear to be listening as he continued his useless struggle against Caboose who was holding him with ease. Washington was practically able to hear the Blue’s smile at the hug he had been ordered to give the escapee.

“From Valhalla, when Omega –?“ Washington tried again, but the interruption was immediate.

“ _Get away FROM ME!_ ” the man screamed, and the desperation and pure, unfiltered, fear in his voice hit Washington hard. He didn't even try to stop his body from taking a step backwards, giving him his space back.

“Y-you killed them all! You were there, they told me, you –!”

“What are you…?” Washington frowned, speaking mostly to himself by now.

Before he could even hope for answers, the next interruption arrived.

Tucker burst to the opening, gasping for breath. At seeing Washington, he immediately leaned against the wall to his side as if to take cover, rabidly pointing the sword left and right to further light up the space to understand just what he was stepping in on.

Seeing the scene he was greeted by, Tucker let the sword drop and chuckled gleefully at their enemy’s downfall. “Got you, _fucker!_ ”

Washington didn’t look at Tucker, didn’t even hear his snorts. He was completely taken back by the sight of the simulation trooper in front of him – there was no denying he was one, no matter how impossible it was.

There were no other survivors but one, and he had long since been taken away. And that should have meant only _one thing_ regarding his faith, knowing both the Project and the UNSC.

“What is your name?” Washington asked with his voice not even having to be forced to a softer tone, his shock at the entire situation doing the work for him. “Why are you here?”

“Hey!” a familiar voice called out from behind Tucker and once more getting the restrained man start kicking his feet with more vigor, to Washington's annoyance.

But it only took a moment for Washington to let the feeling drop, belatedly registering the voice and turning to it in surprise only to see Simmons and Grif support one another as they made it to the open space of the cave.

And Grif’s voice managed to surprise Washington even further as he finally took it in – the anger it held as he gestured at the Red and Washington almost accusingly was something new. It was the tone Washington had expected to hear a day earlier, and he had no idea what could have brought it out now.

“Leave it, Freelancer fuck. You won’t get anything out of him like this…”

The captured Red soldier stopped fighting almost immediately at hearing Grif speak further, turning his head around as far as he could to catch a glimpse of him past Caboose’s larger frame.

“What are you – wait, how did you even get here so fast?” Tucker snapped at Grif, but it was Simmons who spoke next, carefully enough but with a tight edge to his voice as well:

“Shortcut; I memorised the map. And, uh, let’s at least… get back outside first, okay? It’s not safe in here.”

The Red in Caboose’s hold began to wiggle again, but Grif stepping forward and asking Caboose to drop him to the ground seemed to work to somewhat calm him down, or at least accept the situation he was in -

With the five-man group surrounding him, the Red had nowhere to go, even if he had been stupid enough to try to fight them.

 

* * *

 

“Private Walter Henderson”, Washington slowly said. The name was painfully familiar to him, yet at the same time not at all. He felt his throat go dry as his mind worked to remember the brief moment he had seen this man before, not having spared him or his faith any further thought beyond that point.

The memory was hazy at best and only the Counselor's presence had really stuck with him. If anything, Washington could remember just how much he had wanted Henderson to be dragged out of the room to get on with his own mission.

He let out a breath, studying the way Henderson avoided looking his way. It was an understandable reaction and one Washington would have wanted nothing more than to copy - but he couldn't. He had already promised himself that he would face whatever consequences were coming his way.

Seeing Henderson now, without a helmet on and his dark hair a mess of long, tangled strands, was an effective reminder of him being just a normal person -

One of many the Freelancers had taken for granted throughout the years.

"Just what is the meaning of this?" Sarge crumbled, the sergeant being left unsure what to think of the situation. The implication that it was a Red soldier who might be behind everything that had happened to his team so far could be a dangerous one, Washington thought as he prepared himself.  

“You… You are telling me he’s nothing but a…”

Sharply, Henderson’s head snapped up at Simmons, his eyes wide and blank. As the simulation trooper waited for Simmons to finish his thought, _to hear just what he was_ , Simmons found himself unable to do exactly that under the other’s stare.

Instead, Simmons swallowed hard and turned away. The exact reaction Washington couldn't, wouldn't, allow himself to have if those eyes ever looked his way.

Thankfully, Grif was the one to speak next:

“He’s a Red who had no fucking idea what he was doing, just protecting himself from the people he thought had ruined his life and _killed everyone else here_.”

Washington was completely silent, just staring at the confusingly young man sitting on the ground, surrounded by a mishmash of other armoured figures. Belatedly, he had the realisation that his attention while standing behind Henderson back was probably not helping the situation.

But still.

The Red, _Henderson_ , didn’t once look his way; and it almost seemed like he was acting out of defiance rather than fear. Not doing or feeling what the Freelancer would expect of him, he was also making his stance known through this simple notion.

“How did you get here?” Simmons tried again, his voice silent as he was taking in the fact that his guy was supposed to be the one who had driven him on the edge in the first place. This one, fake, soldier in Red armour had no idea of the effect he had had on him for the past five days or so.

He had no idea what he had done.

Henderson, still staring up at Simmons with the same blank expression, finally opened his mouth to speak when it became clear he had no other choice:

“The guards left, when you attacked the Command. No one paid any attention, it was easy enough… Where else would I have gone?”

“Project Freelancer locked you up and, after our attack, they just… forgot?” Washington mumbled. He thought it was quite an oversight, obviously, but it was sensible as well - thanks to the Project’s low standards. The Counselor wouldn’t have cared about Henderson for as long as the UNSC didn’t get to hear what he had to say. What Washington was more surprised about was that the Counselor hadn’t simply killed the guy on the spot, long before the attack, like he would have expected him to.

A moment later, he hated himself for thinking that, having accepted it then as Henderson had been dragged out of the room and still thinking of it as the obvious choice without a second of consideration on why killing the guy  _shouldn’t be_ the first course of action.

Still, Washington couldn't stop stating the facts:

“Back then... The Counselor couldn’t make a big deal out of your disappearance, but… I don’t know what the UNSC would have done with you if they had found you instead.”

Henderson didn't seem bothered by what Washington had to say, not turning his way or addressing his words. He glanced at the ground and then back at Grif who was close by and frowning. After a second, Grif looked up at the Red with a look similar to his crossing his face.

And that shared silence was yet another slap to the face, also very effective against the Freelancer.

Washington really had seen Private Walter Henderson once before, there was no denying it. He hadn’t thought of him since.

But the man clearly remembered him and the other Freelancers – he had been in Valhalla when the Meta had finished off all of his still standing comrades, after the ship had crashed and Omega had attacked them.

How Henderson was still alive and how had made it all the way back to Valhalla didn’t exactly matter. All he had done was run away from the Project’s betrayal and to the only place he knew on the planet, hoping no one would find him again.

Henderson had lost faith in all of them, the people who had send him to this war not once looking his way; the same way the UNSC had, again, left the Reds and Blues in Valhalla just so that they wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of dealing with them. And who knows what the Counselor or the people in charge of him, from the Project’s side, had told Henderson when it became clear he would be staying with them –  if they had felt the need to keep him alive, someone had to have gotten something out of it.

The truth of the outposts wasn’t a kind one to share to someone who no longer existed in the public eye, Washington could imagine that much. Even if these specific Reds and Blues he had joined had let it all slide with a shrug, they were nothing like Henderson who had lost everything.

"Wait, wait, what is happening, is he joining us?" Caboose asked and broke the silence that had fallen with each of them present just staring at each other without a clue to what to think. The uncharacteristic seriousness of this conclusion was enough to get them all to shut their mouths, but thankfully there was always someone in this team who would get them to move on with it.

“Alright, I’ll just… explain what he told me earlier, this is going nowhere”, Grif said, looking away from Henderson and focusing on Washington instead.

“Henderson made it back here around the same time the Meta and you did, when Simmons, Donut and Lopez were the only ones still around. And then he saw what happened between you. He thought you and the Meta were friends or whatever, which isn’t exactly wrong or anything considering you shot them down”, Grif explained and vaguely gestured at Simmons and he empty space next to him, making the maroon soldier look away uncomfortably.

“In short, Henderson was pretty fucking surprised when we returned with the UNSC after the shitshow that was Sidewinder… And while he was still thinking whether or not come meet us, knowing we helped with the attack at Command and indirectly freed him and all that, he found out we had brought _Washington_ back with us as well – and got the confirmation for who he was by listening in on our calls.”

“So someone fucked up and talked about him on the radio! And there really was a reason _not to do that_ , someone was listening!” Tucker yelled out, glad to find that at least one part of their preparation had been proven right even if the person listening wasn’t exactly who they had been expecting them to be.

Not that they were sure of the UNSC not being out there somewhere still but that really was the least of their problems, for once.

Washington let out a heavy sigh.

“So… You thought the Reds and Blues were the ones who had ‘switched sides’, when the UNSC dropped us back here… Not me… Because why would they take me in otherwise, after what I did to them?”

Henderson frowned, turning back to Grif again. Grif grunted in annoyance at the role he had gotten, talking to the Red:

“It’s fucking complicated… But we really have, pretty much, ‘ _forgiven_ ’ the whole part where Washington tried to kill us all. Not exactly a sane thing to do but that seems to be our thing! And you’re getting no better explanation, trust me.”

“Really?” Henderson asked and who knows how many times he already had, based on the way Grif sighed. Still, he nodded at the Red who then bit his lip. His shoulders twitched as if he was struggling to choose whether he should turn and look at Washington again, properly this time.

Washington knew then that if he did, it would be Henderson's victory, not his. Even if Washington would somehow manage to not avert his eyes.

“…You made those traps in defence?” Simmons asked, arms crossed and held tightly against himself. “Sure, I can buy that… But what about the hologram? And… the voices? Why did only I hear them, a-and… _Donut_ …?”

"Huh?" Henderson’s eyes seemed to brighten at that, as concerning of a reaction as that was in these circumstances. “That was… I think I can explain?”

“ _Please do_ ”, Simmons almost found himself begging, taking a step closer. Henderson’s expression immediately switched to apologetic at noticing the desperate look crossing his features.

“You’re a cyborg”, Henderson stated, studying the metal half of Simmons' face with an almost curious look for a second, “and the machine I built is, uh, u-unstable at best…”

“…the machine?” Simmons said before his eyes widened, hands falling limply to his sides. “The emp!”

“There’s an EMP here?” Washington reacted immediately, his stance going rigid, but Henderson simply tilted his head.

“Wait, a what?”

“In the caves! You had an emp, the machine in the corner of –!“

“Oh!” Henderson interrupted and waved his hands to calm them down, the realisation making him slip into a more comfortable stance although still kept his back to Washington - he was still in control with that decision, considering how little trust he actually had in the Freelancer not wanting him dead.

“No! That’s not a, uh, whatever you think it is – it’s what I used to capture your calls!”

“…Huh?”

“I built it from the scrap left behind when the place was cleaned, after the… attack… Someone had collected a lot of the broken parts on the floor at Blue Base, from the ship and the destroyed radio tower, and I-I intended to find a way to call for help with it if only I could learn how it worked. I didn’t know who the enemy was, I was just desperate to find a way to not be tracked and maybe someone… else…

“I… I'm not an engineer and the machine doesn’t work _at all_ , I could mostly just reach this base and hear parts of your calls… But it’s made out of parts of a little bit of everything, like some that I got from the underground chamber in the Red Base –“

“Tch”, Sarge stepped in to interrupt Henderson’s sudden rambling, cocking his shotgun. “Don’t you dare talk to the Blues about that one, son!”

“Ah! Yes, sir!” Reflexively, Henderson straightened his back at the sudden sign of authority – he seemed to be a Red at heart, and Sarge acknowledged the motion with an appreciative nod of his head which Washington was glad to see. It was better than having Sarge but him up for court-martial.

“That… Does that explain it?” Henderson looked questioningly back at Simmons who, after a moment of thought, slowly nodded before frowning again. He was not feeling the satisfaction of everything being cleared.

It wasn’t all _fine_ , just with that.

“But Donut isn’t…”

“He wears a hearing aid!” Henderson exclaimed and actually snapped his fingers at the realisation hitting him, making everyone look at him with their eyes wide and immediately filling with distrust.

“And how the hell do you know _that?_ ” Simmons snapped, his discomfort over discussing these two men in a sentence obvious. Henderson noticed and his hand dropped in a sudden sense of fear, glancing at Grif again as if asking for support.

But Grif was the only one not looking his way, leaving him to clear this specific situation on his own.

“…I thought he was dead, when you first left”, Henderson began to explain, testing out the words and the others' reactions to them. “I mean… After the fight that brought down the wall and collapsed parts of the caves, when _you_ shot him.”

For the first time, Henderson eyes darted to Washington. Washington remembered the blood on the grass.

“W-wait… what?” Simmons frowned, also turning to Washington and unaware of the way the man was struggling to keep his stance. "After the…"

Washington shifted uncomfortably, crossing his arms for a second before letting them drop off again, having no idea what to do with himself. Still, it didn’t take long to connect the dots as he held Henderson's stare.

“So… You were already here when the Meta and I fought the Reds. After we left, you found Donut on the ground, and…”

“I dragged him inside the Blue Base and the closest bed I could find, but it had already been a while and I thought he wouldn’t last much longer… I didn’t have anything to help him with”, Henderson confirmed, his lip twitching. 

“…So that’s how Donut got to Caboose’s bed, he had no memory of doing it himself”, Simmons mumbled before the Reds and Blues fell quiet again, not too unnoticeably glancing at Washington whose hands had balled into fists.

Henderson sighed. “You came back, carried him to the Red Base instead, and… I was glad, to see he was alive. Until I realised _you_ ”, he huffed and glared at Washington, “were here as well.”

No one said anything for a while, and Henderson began to play with his fingers as he waited.

“A piece of tech in his ear and a radio-machine sending out a broken signal of someone talking to themselves underground; good enough of an ending to your ‘ _ghost story’?_ ” Grif broke the moment with sarcasm dripping from his voice, turning to Simmons who looked at him in surprise.

“T-that’s… Huh. Does that actually explain everything?”

“Does it? I wouldn’t know…” Grif huffed and turned to Henderson, immediately switching the subject again:

“We’ve all fucked up. And what you saw us do here, regarding your presence, was as good of a military operation as you’re ever getting out of us. And, honestly… You’re not the only one who’s killed Donut, or entirely ‘at fault’ here.”

Finally, Henderson’s gaze lowered and Washington couldn't even feel relieved about it as he also took in Grif's words, closing his eyes.

Every single one of them, even Caboose, turned to Grif.

Grif lifted a brow as if challenging them to say anything, and that’s when Simmons remembered the two Red simulation troopers really must have talked about all of this back in the cave – they had had almost a day to do so, with Henderson most likely having been struggling with the revelation on what had really been happening on their side of the outpost.

And it made sense, Simmons realised, for Grif to have wanted to help Henderson, telling them to give him a chance instead of shooting. The pointlessness of being where they were, of who they were fighting - being less than human for the military that had hired them - was something they should all be able to relate to.

It was the same with fucking everything up, Simmons supposed as his fists clenched, the metallic one letting out a grating sound that made him flinch.

Henderson took a deep breath.

“I… I know there was a cave-in. There was a trap with explosives that one of you set off after you entered with the light-red guy, but I wasn’t able to get back there or figure out where he might have been when he got hit. The area affected was wider than I had planned for, the structure already weakened after your earlier fight and the wall coming down. I am… sorry. I don’t know what happened to him.”

Henderson glanced up at Simmons before his eyes fell back at the ground, wringing his hands nervously. There were a few of them facing the facts, not just himself, Washington thought and could have almost laughed at the idea.

Letting out a heavy sigh instead, Washington finally turned to look tiredly up at the cliffs.

“Are you sure you saw Donut, when the cave-in happened?”

The question wasn’t directed at Henderson, and Simmons cursed under his breath.

Simmons closed his eyes to think back on the moment it had happened – the dust and the tired voice that had guided him still clear in his mind. He had told the others that he had seen Donut right before the cave-in had happened.

“I… I really don’t know", Simmons admitted, opening his eyes only to look at the cliff as well. 

"I thought I had found him when I heard his voice. I know he was close and most likely injured, so I just… I thought he was there, but I really can’t say for sure if I… saw him or not.”

Only one thing left to do.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explanation time! Walter Henderson is one of the few things I remember from watching Season 6 with my brother when it first came out, that short scene of him just… being forgotten. And then we got Season 15, showing all the leftovers together to destroy the UNSC, and it broke my heart because WALTER. HENDERSON. DIED. MAYBE. And not even in the simulation…
> 
> From there I got the motivation to finish this fic I started a little earlier, in hopes of making the "dream" of his return happen even if canon never gave it to me: 13 chapters with 30k+ words of slow-paced confusion with no intention of ever being anything more than that just to have WALTER FUCKING HENDERSON IGNORED ALL OVER AGAIN BEFORE FINALLY GETTING A CHANCE!
> 
> He’s not a ghost.
> 
> \--  
> …And the actual notes:  
> I couldn’t be bothered with pacing out the dialogue now, which says something about me maybe. Hopefully I remembered to address everything happening at least, do tell me if I didn’t! All questions and comments and whatnot are always appreciated <3


	13. The cobalt blue ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the project it had once been a part of, Valhalla had been made an outpost filled with death. What things like that sometimes leave behind are many not-exactly-ghosts searching for a way back into the world of the living.
> 
> They just needed to be heard first.

Grif heard Simmons’ silent complaints grow more and more audible the closer to the kitchen the maroon soldier got and shrugged to himself. The days following the incident named “Walter Henderson” had been difficult for the most of them.

“The search?”

Simmons paused by the doorway and looked at Grif sitting by the table, no sign of Henderson to be seen as the cyborg reflexively glanced around. A part of him had already grown to expect the Red’s presence wherever Grif was, all thanks to the guy seeming to appreciate his company – obviously, to Grif’s annoyance.

“We were still unable to find the exact cave-in that I… heard him by, even with the maps.” Simmons looked away, the guilt eating at him. “No sign of Donut.”

Grif didn’t know what to say to that, the subject one they had never really had to deal with considering their usual treatment of teamkills and other related issues. Donut was supposed to have been dead even before their return to Valhalla, so going through the same again wasn’t supposed to be, in theory, that big of a deal.

But with everything else that had also happened at Valhalla by now, all the two opposing teams really were left with was the fact that _what happened to Donut_ had been completely pointless. And there was no denying that Simmons’ role had been to, literally, cause most of it to happen in the first place. Not that Grif had helped him much with that, but his focus was on one side of the story only:

Not being able to find Donut was... _it was a thing_. And Simmons really wasn’t the only one taking it badly.

“Where’s Henderson?” Simmons asked and Grif sighed. That’s yet another something he was left to deal with.

He wasn’t the guy’s babysitter, but that was a useless argument when Sarge had already appointed Grif to keeping an eye to not let him wander off. Henderson was a Red and he needed to find his place in the hierarchy – and, non-surprisingly, Sarge already seemed to like him a hell of a lot more than Grif.

“He’s with Wash…”

That said, Grif seriously hated that he knew the answer to Simmons' question.

“What? How did he _agree to –?_ ”

“Henderson seems to like Caboose well enough, and vice versa, so… He and Wash need to talk and he’s willing to go with that”, Grif explained, for a second appearing almost pleased over the peace of no additional Reds hanging around him like a shadow. Which Henderson had literally been to them, not that long ago at all. “He also said he’d go with you in the caves tomorrow.”

Henderson had gone with them for the first searches, to show them the general direction of the trap one of them had hit to cause the explosion. I hadn't been much use though, with neither Simmons nor Tucker able to figure out at what edge of the area the larger-than-expected impact of it had, most likely, caught up to Donut.

Now, all they could do was keep wandering around.

“That’s good, I guess…” Simmons huffed, tiredly rubbing at his eyes. “He seems to feel bad enough about it…”

Grif lifted a brow, regarding Simmons with a sceptical look and a tilt of his head.

“Sure. It does that to people when they find out they might have accidentally had a hand in _killing_ someone who meant them no harm.”

Simmons blinked.

“…True.” Not running off for once, Simmons sat down opposite of Grif with a serious look on his face as he caught his eyes. “I fucked up.”

Grif couldn’t help but to grit his teeth. He really wasn’t the best choice for any of these topics.

“Yeah, well… You should talk to Washington about it, same as Henderson”, Grif replied. He looked at his hands, the bandages finally gone but the scars left behind by Sidewinder very much visible and there to stay. “He seems to know all about it.”

Simmons chuckled numbly and shook his head, leaning back on his seat as he did. “The last thing I expected was for it to be a _Freelancer_ who hates me for losing _Donut_ … Especially not the one who shot him in the first place…”

 

* * *

 

“I am…”

“Sorry?”

Washington hummed uncomfortably, watching Caboose “argue” with Tucker across the yard with Henderson stood by his side. There was a well-defined distance kept between the two of them for the meeting, which was held out in the open and with Sarge’s armour visible at the other edge of the field.

“That, but I doubt one word changes much.”

Henderson let out a barking laugh and shrugged at Washington’s reply.

“Personally, I don’t want _you_ to owe _me_ anything… You were behind the attack at Command that freed me, Grif said, so feel free to think that’s good enough to make us… even… You can just save the rest of your regrets for someone else.”

He sounded bitter for having been abandoned, of course, but more than that Washington picked up on how done Henderson was with the entire situation. But it was hard to say if he was running from the issue or not, not any more than Washington himself might have still been.

Washington turned to look at the cliffs above them, the gesture a familiar one by now. They had seen no more movement out there since Henderson had left his caves, which was a relief at least. “Guess we are in the same boat there”, he said.

Henderson cursed under his breath.

“I still can’t believe this is happening…”

“You were… not in a good spot.”

“Don’t try to comfort me”, Henderson snorted, his arms crossed in his discomfort and Washington knew without looking that he must have been glaring at the ground by his feet very vehemently. “I’m certainly not giving you the courtesy! Really, I want nothing to do with you…”

Washington nodded – that much was expected as well.

“So… You are taking responsibility for what happened to Donut, no matter what.”

Henderson glanced at him with a blank smile and then shrugged. “I fucked up, and… As much as I hate it, _this_ is still better than hiding in a cave for the rest of my life.”

“Right.” Washington also smiled, ruefully, as his gaze at the cliffs turned into a glare similar to Henderson’s. He did get as much, too, considering how far he had gone to get out of jail only to somehow end up _here_. “Could be worse…”

“You’re also joining the search tomorrow?” Henderson asked after a pause, noting how Washington’s limp was pretty much gone by now. “Grif mentioned you might…”

Washington sighed.

“Yes. It’s the least I can do.”

Washington had had a mission, to start his time with this team by having a talk with Donut. With that taken from him, there weren’t too many other options for how to continue. Or, so he had thought.

If not the words then the actions had to mean something, Washington found himself thinking as Henderson walked away without anything else to add. There were more people than just Donut whose lives he had had an impact on, anyway.

 

* * *

 

Simmons didn’t know what he should do next, wandering mindlessly through the damaged Red Base and thinking back on Grif’s words from a few hours earlier. It was already getting pretty late, so there was no reason to even jokingly consider meeting up with _Washington_ – the thought alone was terrifying, especially with the Freelancer’s annoyance at Simmons’ earlier actions.

Maybe he would never let it go, Simmons thought with a shiver. They really didn’t have the best start to their… what were they? Colleagues, now?

With a sigh, Simmons passed the corridor to their half-destroyed inventories. Everything Henderson had stolen had been carried back and counted, a few more times than necessary just for the sake of doing so. Habits were hard to break, Simmons had long since learned, but there was one he really wanted to get rid of and soon.

It’s not like he had expected his insomnia to just disappear when the mystery of Valhalla’s “hauntings” had been cleared, _but still_. It hadn’t gotten any better with Henderson’s appearance and he couldn’t say for how much longer he would be able to stay conscious and wandering through the caves in Donut’s footsteps, with the state he was in.

Dragging his feet forward, Simmons didn’t even immediately realise just where his brain had led him until he could feel the wind against his messy hair, automatically having pulled his helmet off upon reaching his destination. Yet another habit he had no real control of, Simmons noted as he took another step up the ramp and to the top of the base.

It wasn’t much of a surprise to find Grif already there, either, and Simmons couldn’t help but to scoff at the sight of him; hopefully he didn’t start thinking Simmons was following him around the way Henderson apparently was. No way.

“In case you didn’t know, I just saw Sarge in the middle of clearing the space around the elevator to find his way back into the holo-chamber”, Simmons said as casually as he could, walking up to Grif. “He already has Henderson to help him out, but if you want to keep your distance again…”

“Riiight, wasn’t Lopez still down there?” Grif asked with a thoughtful hum.

“Huh.” Simmons blinked slowly and then nodded his head, falling deep in thought at the reminder. “He is, isn’t he? I didn’t even think of… that… Wait.”

Grif squinted as Simmons seemed to try to figure something out, his gloved finger rising to his chin. Grif snorted at the sight.

“Please, just don’t come up with another conspiracy…”

Simmons’ shoulders rose up in defence and he immediately turned to glare at Grif. “Seriously? I was _right!_ ”

“No”, Grif immediately said with a smirk, “you were not. You said it was _nothing_.”

Simmons sputtered and pointed an accusing finger at the other. “Yes, exactly, meaning that there was _no conspiracy_ , nothing! J-just, you know, just a guy…”

Grif laughed at him and shook his head, the distraction having worked to make Simmons forget all about the fact that there should have been _another person_ yet they were missing, not just Donut and Lopez…

“You know”, Grif said to break through Simmons’ half-hearted whining. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but you’re really starting to piss me off, so, here we go.”

Simmons shoulders hunched again and he couldn’t deny the fear that crushed through him at the sudden words. There were a lot of things Grif could have meant by them, but none could possibly be anything good.

“Wh–?”

“You look like you’re about to die, you dumb fuck”, Grif stated with practically no emotion lacing his voice, and Simmons’ eyes widened in shock.

“…Uh.” Simmons couldn’t have hated himself more for the way his brain stopped working at hearing that - even if he had tried to pull forth any of the many reasons he did, in fact, hate himself. “I am… not…”

“You already admitted it, so, _shut up_. You haven’t slept since we got here? It’s been, what, way over a week since then? That’s an insult on so many levels!” Grif said and he did look almost annoyed at that, which Simmons would have been happy to insult him back for at any other time. He was aware of Grif's own injuries also having kept him awake.

Grif grunted in annoyance at getting no reply other than Simmons' blank stare, continuing: “What’s your problem? If it had started with the Henderson-incident, fine. But no. And fuck if I want to be the one to point this out, get me? I wouldn’t even care if it wasn’t for Sarge and Henderson breathing down my neck with you running into fucking walls!”

“Um…” Simmons rubbed at his neck at the outburst, practically able to imagine a vein about to burst with the look Grif was wearing as he glared at him. “You… D-do you want me to be honest?”

It was an odd thing to be thankful for, Simmons thought about having already gone red in embarrassment before Grif’s earlier words had even hit him. At least now his own, stumblingly awkward as hell question couldn’t have made matters any worse.

Grif’s brow twitched and maybe he really wanted to say _no_ – Simmons wanted him to say no, _for fuck’s sake_ – but he ended up shrugging and going with:

“Try it.”

Simmons could do nothing but keep staring, and all the while Grif continued to glare at him like he wanted him to drop dead on the spot. But, then again, wouldn't that have been the opposite to what had forced him bring up any of this in the first place?

“I…”

And with that unexpected turn, Simmons actually did end up trying to figure out just what his problem was.

The obvious issue was the realisation that his military career had been for nothing, right? Then there was Donut getting shot, and Simmons having been held a hostage? Being saved, against all odds and expectations?

The Meta and Agent Washington, blood on the grass, blood on the snow? Paranoia multiplied by the voices in his head?

“It’s just…” Simmons mumbled, now deep in thought. The actual question was, what had changed? He had been made a cyborg for a non-existent war years ago, and he had thought he was used to the bullshit by now.

Meaning, Grif was annoyed because Simmons freaking out was somehow breaking the very routine of acceptance that had kept them alive through it all in the first place?

“I really didn’t expect us to make it this far.”

Grif’s glare dropped in an instant, morphing into something closer to confusion even if his annoyance was still there as well.

“I don’t think anyone did? Certainly not the UNSC”, Grif replied with a scoff when Simmons got stuck on nothing more to add. “So you’re, what, disappointed that we’re still breathing?”

Simmons flinched and his eyes flashed almost dangerously. “No! I’m just…”

There was barely a pause before Grif spoke up.

“Okay, alright, we need to do this!” Grif exclaimed, making Simmons jump back. His eyes grew ever wider at the shift, if possible.

“W-what –?”

“I didn’t die, at Sidewinder, and you actually tried to catch me! Alright? I get it, you feel like shit for not being able to do that, or being too late, or whatever; I feel like shit for almost dying in the dumbest fucking way possible, too… But _I didn’t die, Simmons_. And I get it.”

Simmons stared at Grif, uselessly opening his mouth in an attempt to find something to say while Grif glared straight past him. They were not having this conversation, right?

And…

That couldn't have been  _the problem_ , could it?

“…Right. Uh. I know that.”

“Do you?” Grif asked with a snort, glancing at Simmons who had gone straight back to bright red in his ever growing embarrassment.

“It’s… fine, I get it. Sidewinder really wasn’t that big of a deal”, Simmons chuckled nervously, tiredly still, and turned to desperately look at the Blue Base. “But I let it be one? And then _this_ happened.”

“…Wrong.” Grif sighed, almost seeming disappointed as he turned to walk away – another habit, to avoid him when he got like this, Simmons noted. And to add to it, just like everyone else, Grif couldn’t help but to glance up at the cliff as he moved –

Now empty of life and hopefully to remain that way.

“Sidewinder was a pretty fucking big deal. We just suck.”

Simmons stared blankly across the closed space that was Valhalla, Grif’s words slowly beginning to sink in. Grif had to be seriously annoyed by the way he had been acting if he was willing to go this far with his speech, before fleeing the scene.

“That said, you still owe me.”

At hearing the add-on, Simmons couldn’t help but to let out a quiet snort. “For what?” he asked and turned his head just enough to squint at the other.

Grif simply let out another sigh, but now with a smug grin on his face.

“For keeping watch, to begin with – we had a deal, remember? And if you think I didn’t fucking notice you stealing _my property_ to trick Tucker to go in the caves with you –!“

“A-ah! You, right, you know… The whiskey…”

“And the magazines, I do ‘keep inventory’ of my shit, too, and you better repay me for what you stole.”

Grif was actually smirking now, leaving Simmons unable to not return the gesture with a hidden sigh of relief also mixed in. He wasn’t quite sure what the latter was for, but he felt like he could finally start breathing again.

It had been a while, Simmons found, with the breeze of Valhalla no longer a threat to him.

Maybe he really should go get some sleep.

“Then what do you want for it, fatass?” Simmons asked and crossed his arms. Grif hummed, tapping a finger to his chin and his expression dangerously contemplative.

“I’ll think of something.”

 

* * *

 

Washington put on his helmet and turned to the unlikely company gathered by his side.

Henderson stood to his left, a good few feet of distance kept between them as per usual. Simmons, on his right, seemed to be going for the same level of safety but not just in regards to Washington – it would have been more odd to see the two Red armoured men ever interacting rather than not.

The triangle they formed wasn’t yet complete, though, and Washington did find himself hating his life just a bit more when he realised he was grateful for Tucker’s, _late_ , arrival breaking through the silence.

“I know I’m late, no need to say it!”

Annoyingly enough, Washington stalled for a second too long to come up with a retort to feel like saying it out loud. Then again, he wasn’t sure when he had begun wanting to keep up with the pace of these people’s insanity.

Ignoring Tucker and his own thoughts, Washington began to walk toward the caves that they were all too familiar with by now. It was hard to expect finding anything anymore, days after it had all, literally, gone down.

“So, what’s the plan?” Tucker asked as he caught up with Simmons.

“The usual?” Simmons replied with a shrug.

“Sure it is”, Tucker waved a hand up at the cliff, “but for how much longer?”

“Ah.”

Washington side eyed Henderson, glad for the visors but not for the way he could still see the Red picking up his speed at Tucker and Simmons’ conversation.

“Until we have something better to do?”

“Mhmm”, Tucker hummed and picked up his sword in preparation for the darkness ahead. “I’m not saying this is _worse_ than the fake war we had been preparing for, but how long do you think Sarge is going to be preoccupied with whatever he’s doing while we look for Donut in his stead?”

It was no secret that Tucker thought this had nothing to do with him, but he hadn’t seriously complained about it either. Washington stopped by the cave’s entrance and let out a sigh, unable to keep quiet as he listened on:

“We have one more length of the Northern corridors to check and, once that is done, we have done what we can.”

The silence was contemplating, with Henderson crossing his arms impatiently and Tucker poking a rock with the tip of the sword in an almost apologetic gesture.

Haltingly turning towards the Freelancer, Simmons went to ask: “And you –?”

The interruption to his words came from an unexpected source.

“Agent Washington.”

In a split second, Washington spun around and drew out his pistol. His entire body language screamed danger as he reflexively went to point the gun at the intruder standing on the cliff with them.

“What the hell is _happening here?_ ” the intruder asked simultaneously to swooping forward, straight past Tucker and Simmons’ dumbfounded forms. No part of their lacklustre military training kicked in to offer their assistance before Washington had already been stripped of his weapon and kicked to the ground with a gasp.

The only word making it past Washington’s lips was painted with utter disbelief:

“ _C-Carolina?_ ”

The new figure in blue didn’t lower their weapon, but the tilt of their head seemed to be enough of a recognition for Washington. He cursed and, taking that as a warning, Tucker and Simmons took a hurried step backwards - away from the cave's entrance as well as the two soldiers.

Tucker whistled.

“That’s enough of that, huh.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> Doc, Donut and Lopez, stuck in the holo-chamber and tortured by the broken copies of the Reds and Blues, might find each other still! As in; I have my own story for what happened but, if you want, Season 9 goes as it should and nothing much has changed, there’s just an extra Red who is more interested in taking down the Director than the rest of them are.
> 
> But then again, I’m wondering if I should continue this “series”, write more Reds with Walter and mix him with some more shit from here on out, when he’s calmed down enough to have more of a personality… We'll see!


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